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AJ 


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l\Z\Vft 
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N*tf- 


WEA3UR:  ROOM 


COL.  GEORGE  WASHINGTON  FLOWERS 
MEMORIAL  COLLECTION 


DUKE  UNIVERSITY  LIBRARY 
DURHAM.  N.  C. 


PRESENTED  BY 
W.  W.  FLOWERS 


CHARLES  DICKENS'S 


NEW 


CHRISTMAS    STORY. 


M£  MUMPER'S  LODGINGS. 


I.  How  Mrs.  Lirripf.r  carried  on  the  Business. 
II.  How  the  First  Floor  went  to  Crowley  Castle. 

III.  How  the  Side-Room  was  attended  bt  a  Doctor. 

IV.  How  the  Second  Floor  Kept  a  Dog. 

V.   How  the  Third  Floor  knew  the  Potteries. 
VI.   How  the  Best  Attic  was  under  a  Gloud. 
VII.  How  the  Parlours  addjd  a  Few  Words. 


) 


MOBILE,    ALA.: 

PRIRTED     11      rill    "HI-  I.  OF    THE    MUIV     K  rr\  ERTI9ER    ANDRKOUTIR. 


18  6  4. 


\ 


* 


}-&v 


M??  LIERIPER'S  LODGINGS. 


HOW   MRS.  LIRRIPEK  CARRIED  ON  THE  BUSINESS. 

Whoever  would  begin  to  be  worried  with 
letting  Lodgings  that  wasn't  a  lone  woman  with 
a  living  to  get  is  a  thing  inconceivable  to  me  my 
dear,  excuse  the  familiarity  but  it  comes  natural 
to  me  in  my  own  little  room  w'hen  wishing  to 
open  my  mind  to  those  that  I  can  trust  and  I 
should  be  truly  thankful  if  they  were  all  man- 
kind but  such  is  not  so,  for  have  but  a  Furnished 
bill  in  the  window  and  your  watch  on  the  man- 
tl< -piece  and  farewell  to  it  if  you  turn  your  back 
but  for  a  second  however  gentlemanly  the  man- 
ior  is  bring  of  your  own  sex  any  safe- 
guard as  I  have  reason  in  the  form  of  sugar- 
to  know,  for  that  lady  (and  a  fine  woman 
she  was)  got.  me  to  run  for  a  glass  of  water  on 
the  plea  of  going  to  be  confined,  which  certainly 
turned  out  true  but  it  was  in  the  Siation-House. 

Number  Eighty-one  Norfolk  Street  Strand  — 
situated  midway  between  the  City  and  St.  James's 


I  am  well  aware  it  Is  not  or  my  opinion  of  you 
would  be  greatly  lowered,  and  as  to  airy  bed- 
rooms and  a  night-porter  in  constant  attendance 
the  less  said  the  better,  the  bedrooms  being  stufTy 
and  the  porter  stuff". 

It  is  forty  years  ago  since  me  nnd  my  poor 
Lim'per  got  married  at  St.  Clement's  Danes 
where  I  now  have  a  sitting  in  a  very  pleasant 
pew  with  genteel  company  nnd  my  own  ha--ork 
and  being  partial  to  evening  service  not  too 
crowded.  My  poor  Lirriper  was  a  handsome 
figure  of  a  man  with  a  beaming  eye  and  a  voice 
as  mellow  as  a  musical  instrument  made  of honev 
and  Steel,  but  he  had  ever  been  a  free  liver 
being  in  the  commercial  traveling  line  and  trav- 
eling what  he  called  a  limekiln  road — "a  dry 
road,  Emma  my  dear,"  my  poor  Lirriper  says  to 
me  "where  I  have  to  lay  the  dust  with  one  drink 
or  another  all  day  long  and  half  the  night,  nnd  it 
wears  me  Emma" — and  this  led  to  bis  running 
through  a  good  deal  8ml  might  have  ran  through 


and  within  five  minutes'  walk  of  the  principal]  tbe  """"pikr  too  when  that  dreadful  Imrs^that 
of  public  nmusement— is  my  address.  I  '  Dever  would  stand  still  for  n  single  instant  let 
have  rented  this  boose  many  years  as  the  parish  on">  m"  f°r  lta  being  night  and  the  gate  shut  and 
Doka  will  testify  and  I  could  wish  mv  j  consequently  took  his  wheel  my  poor  Lirriper 
landlord  was  as  alive  to  the  fact  as  I  am  myself,  Bm'  tnn  s'£  smashed  to  atoms  and  n<\<  r  spoV a 
but  no  bless  you  no;  a  half  I  pound  of  paint  to  afterward*.  He  was  a  handsome  figON 
save  his   life  nor  M   much  my  di  ar  as  s  tile    upon     mnn  ani'  :l    mnn  w'tn   R  .iovi»l    heart 

mgh  on  your  bendt  >!  le  temper,  but  if  they  had  come  op  then  I 

never    have     found     Number    <"""1'1  have  given  you  the  mellowne.n  of  hi- 
Norfolk   Stnet   Strain)  advertised  in    *'"'   ""deed   I  consider  |  -    wanting  in 


i  I  with  the  blensing 

iven   you    never   will    01     shall   so    find   it. 

think    it   lowering 


lcllnwneis   a«  a   general    rule  nnd    making    you 
look  like  a  new-ploughed  Held. 

My   poor  Lirriper   being   behindhand   with  the 


themselves   tn  make  their  name*  t)  at    Haifield    church    in 


it  with  a  blot  in  every  window 

or,  but  what   will  suil    W 
ham's  lower  down  on  the   othi  the  way 

*ill   not    suit   me,  Miss    \V07.enbam    having  her 
■  ■pinions  and   me  having  mine,    tl  • 

;     rapable     of 
i    on   oath   in  a   ■ 

'orm    of    "If   Mrs      Lirriper    names 
"a   shillings   a    week,   1    name    fifteen    and 
-  to  a  settlement  between   your- 
self n-  ience  sup] 
**  *TV                     lams  to  he  Wrce nhara   which 


t  win    bis   native    place 
but  that  he  had  a  likinr  Arms 

*ewrntup"  ng-day  and  1 

h»  happy  a   fortnig1  ippjp  »m,  I   went 

round  to  the  ei-pditors  and    I  «sy«  "Gi-m^mcn    I 

am   acquainted   with    the   fnrt  that  1    am    not  an- 

nuernble  for  my  late  huabaod'i  I  I    with 

for   I   am   bil  lawful     wife   and   hit 

good   name  is  dear  to  me       I  am  jjomg  into  the 

i  •     gentlemen     a«    a    I  usinraa    and    if    I 

v    farthing    that    my   late    husband 

•  ike    of  tha    love  I 

b  >r«  him,  by  this  right  hsnd.''      It  took  a  lsmg 


P33fifi9 


MBS.  LIRRIPEIfS  LOGGINGS. 


rime  to  do  but  if  was  done,  and  the  silver 
cream-jus  which  is  between  ourselves  and  the 
bed' and  the  mattress  in  my  room  upstairs  (or  it 
would  have  found  legs  so  sure  as  ever  the  Fur- 
nished bill  was  up)  being  presented  by  the  gen- 
tlemen engraved  "To  Mrs.  Lirriper  a  mark  of 
frateful  respect  for  her  honorable  conduct" 
(ave  me  a  turn  which  was  too  much  for  my 
eelines,  till  Mr.  Betley  which  at  that  time  had 
the  parlours  and  hived  his  joke  says  "Cheer  up 
Mrs.  Lirriper,  you  should  feel  as  if  it  was  only 
your  christening  and  they  were  your  godfathers 
and  godmothers  which  did  promise  for  you." 
And  it  brought  me  round,  and  I  don't  mind  con- 
fessing to  you  my  dear  that  I  then  put  a  sand- 
wich and  a  drop  of  sh  rry  in  a  little  basket  and 
went  down  to  Hatfield  churchyard  outside  the 
coach  and  kissed  my  hand  and  laid  it  with  a 
kind  of  a  proud  and  swelling  love  on  my  hus- 
band's grave,  though  bless  you  it  had  taken  me 
so  long  to  clear  his  name  that  my  wedding  ring 
was  worn  quite  fine  and  smooth  when  I  laid  it 
on  the  green  green  waving  grass. 

I  am  an  old  woman  now  and  my  good  looks 
are  gone  but  that's  me  my  dear  over  the  plate- 
warmer  and  considered  like  in  the  times  when 
you  used  to  pay  two  guineas  on  ivory  and  took 
your  chance  pretty  much  how  you  came  out, 
which  made  you  very  careful  how  you  left  it 
about  afterwards  because  people  were  turned  so 
red  and  uncomfortable  by  mostly  guessing  it  was 
somebody  else  quite  different,  and.  there  was 
once  SFcertain  person  that  had  put  his  money  in 
a  hop  business  that  came  in  one  morning  to  pay 
his  rent  and  his  respects  being  the  second  floor 
that  would  have  taken  it  .down  from  its  hook 
and  put  it  in  his  breast  pocket — you  understand 
my  dear — for  the  L,  he  says,  of  the  original — 
only  there  was  no  mellowness  in  his  voice  and  I 
wouldn't  let  him,  but  his  opinion  of  it  you  may 
gather  from  his  saying  to  it  ''Speak  to  me 
Emma!"  which  was  far  from  a  rational  obser- 
vation no  doubt  but  still  a  tribute  to  its  being  a 
likeness,  and  I  think  myself  it  teas  like  me  when 
I  wa»  young  and  wore  that  sort  of  stays. 

But  it  was  about  the  Lodgings  that  I  was  in- 
t  riding  to  hold  forth  and  Certainly  1  ought  to 
know  something  of  the  business  having  been  in 
ii  so  hmg,  for  it  was  early  in  the  second  year  of 
my  married  life  that  I  lost  my  poor  Lirriper  and 
I  set  up  at  Islington  directly  afterwards  and  aft- 
erwards came  here,  being  two  houses  and  eight! 
and  thirty  years  and  some  losses  and  a  deal  of 
experience. 

Girl*  are  your  fimt  trial  after  fixtures  and 
they  try  you  even  worse  than  what  I  call  the 
Wandering  ChristinM,  though  why  they  should 
roam  the  earth  looking  for  bills  and  then  com- 


ing in  and  viewing  the  apartments  and  stickling 
about  terms  and  never  at  all  wanting  them  or 
dreaming  of  taking  them  being  already  provided, 
is  a  mystery  I  should  be  thankful  to  have  ex- 
plained if  by  any  miracle  it  could  be.  It's  won- 
derful they  live  so  long  and  thrive  so  on  it  but  I 
suppose  the  exercise  makes  it  healthy,  knocking 
so  much  and  going  from  house  to  house  and  up 
and  down  stairs  all  day,  and  then  their  pretend- 
ing to  be  so  particular  and  punctual  is  a  most 
astonishing  thing,  looking  at  their  watches  and 
saying  "Could  you,  give  me  the  refusal  of  the 
rooms  till  twenty  minutes  past  eleven  the  day 
after  to-morrow  in  the  forenoon,  and  supposing 
it  to  be  considered  essential  by  my  friend  from 
the  country  could  there  be  a  small  iron  bedstead 
put  in  the  little  room  upon  the  stairs?"  Why 
when  I  was  new  to  it  my  dear  I  used  to  con- 
sider before  I  promised  and  to  make  my  mind 
anxious  with  calculations  and  to  get  quite  wea- 
ried out  with  disappointments,  but  now.  I  says 
"Certainly  by  all  means"  well  knowing  it's  a 
Wandering  Christian  and  I  shall  hear  no  more 
about  it,  indeed  by  this  time  I  know  most  of  the 
Wandering  Christians  by  sight  as  well  as  they 
know  me,  it  being  the  habit  of  each  individual 
revolving  round  London  in  that  capacity  to 
come  back  about  twice  a  year,  and  it's  very  re- 
markable that  it  runs  in  families,  and  the  chil- 
dren grow  up  to  it,  but  even  were  it  otherwise 
I  should  no  sooner  hear  of  the  friend  from  the 
country'  which  is  a  certain  sign  that  I  should  nod 
and  say  to  myself  You're  a  Wandering  Christian, 
though  whether  they  are  (as  I  have  heard) 
persons  of  small  property  with  a  taste  for  regu- 
lar employment  and  frequent  change  of  scene  I 
cannot  undertake  to  tell  you. 

Girls  as  I  was  beginning  to  remark  are  one 
of  your  first  and  your  lasting  troubles,  being 
like  your  teeth  which  begin  with  convulsions 
and  never  cease  tormenting  you  from  the  time 
you  cut  them  till  they  cut  you,  and  then  you 
don't  want  to  part  with  them  which  seems  hard 
but  we  must  all  succumb  or  buy  artificial,  and 
even  where  you  get  a  will  nine  times  out  of  ten 
you'll  get  a  dirty  face  with  it,  and  naturally 
lodgers  do  not  like  good  society  to  be  shown  in 
with  a  smear  of  black  across  the  nose  or  a 
smudgy  eyebrow.  Where  they  pick  the  black 
up  is  a  mystery  I  cannot  solve,  as  in  the  case  of 
the  willingest  girl  that  ever  came  into  a  house 
half  starved  poor  thing,  a  girl  so  willing  that  I 
called  her  Willing  Sophy  down  upon  her  knees 
scrubbing  early  and  late  and  ever  cheerful  but 
always  smiling  with  a  black  face.  And  I  says  to 
Sophy  "Now  Sophy-my  good  girl  have  a  regular 
day  for  your  stoves  and  keep  the  width  of  the 
Airy   between  yourself  and  the  blacking  and   do 


MRS.  LIRRIPER'S  LODGIXflS. 


not  brush  your  hnir  with  the  bottoms  of  the 
saucepans  and  do  not  meddle  with  the  snuflft  of 
the  randies  and  it  stands  to  reason  that  it  ean 
no  longer  be"  yet  there  it  was  and  always  on 
her  nose,  which  turning;  up  and  being  broad  ai 
the  end  seemed  to  boast  of.it  and  caused  warn- 
ing from  11  steady  gentleman  nnd  exeellenl  lodger 
with  breakfast  by  the  work  but  a  little  irritable 
and  use  of  a  sitting-room  when  required,  bis 
words  being  "Mrs.  Lirriper  I  have  arrived  at  the 
point  of  admitting  (hat  the  Black  is  a  man  and 
a  brother,  but  only  in  a  natural  form-  and  when 
it  can't  be  got  off."  Well  consequently  I  put 
poor  Sophy  on  to  other  work  and  forbid  her  an- 
swering the  door  or  answering  a  bill  on  any  ac- 
count but  she  was  so  unfortunately  willing  that 
nothing  would  stop  her  flying  up  the  kitchen 
stairs  whenever  a  bell  was  heard  to  tingle.  I 
put  it  to-  her  "Oh  Sophy  Sophy  for  goodness 
goodness  sake  where  doeS  it  come  from?"  To 
which  that  poor  unlucky  willing  mortal  bursting 
out  crying  to  see  me  so  vexed  replied  "I  took  a 
deal  of  black  into  me  ma'am  when  I  was  a  small 
child  being  much  neglected  and  I  think  it  must 
be,  that  it  works  out,"  so  it  continuing  to  work 
out  of  that  poor  tiling  and  not  having  another 
fault  to  find  with  hat  I  says  Sophy  "what  do  you 
seriously  think  of  my  helping  you  away  to  New 
8outh  Wales  where  it  might  not  be  noticed  ?" 
Nor  did  I  ever  repent  the  money  which  was  well 
spent,  for  she  married  the  ship's  cook  on  the  voy- 
age (him  self  a  Mulotter)  and  did  well  and  lived 
happy,  and  so  far  as  ever  I  heard  it  was  not 
noticed  in  a  new  state  of  society  to  her  dying 
day. 

In  what  way  Miss  Wosenham  lower  down  on 
the  other  side  of  the  way  reconciled  it  to  ber 
feelings  as  a  lady  (which  she  is  not)  to  entice 
Mary  Anne  I'erkinsop  from  my  service  is  best 
known  to  herself,  I  do  not  know  and  I  do  not 
wish  to  know  how  opinions  are  formed  at  Wo- 
Senham's  on  any  point.  But  Mary  Anne  1'er- 
kinsop  although  1  behaved  handsomely  to  her 
and  she  behaved  unhandsomely  to  me  was  worth 
her  weight  in  gold  u  overawing  lodgers  with- 
out driving  them  away,  for  lodgers  would  bo  far 
more  sparing  of  their  bells  with  Mary  Anne' than 
[ever  knew  them  be  with  Maid  or  Mistress, 
which  is  a  great  triumph  especially  when 
panied  with  a  cast  in  the  eye  and  a  bag  of  bones, 

but  it   was  the  steadiness  of  ber    way    with    them 

through  her  father's  having  (ailed  in  Polk.  It 
wns  Mary  Anne's  looking  so  respectable  In  her 
person  and  b<  t  in  her  spirits  that  con- 

quered    the   toa-aud-sucanst    gentli  man    (for  he 
d    them    both    in  a     pair    of    scales    every 
morning)  that  I  have  ever  bail  to    'leal   with  and 
no  latnb    grew    meeker,    still  it    afterwards  came 


round  to  me  that  Miss  Wozenham  happening  to 
pass  and  seeing  Mary  Anne  take  in  the  milk  of 
a  nvlkmnn  that  made  free  in  a  rosy-faced  way 
(1  think  no  worse  of  him)  with  every  girl  in  the 
street  but  was  quite  frozen  up  like  the  statue  at 
Charing  Gross  by  her,  saw  Mary  Anne's  value 
in  the  lodging  business  and  went  as  high  as  one 
pound  per  quarter  more,  consequently  Mary  Anne 
with  not  a  word  betwixt  us  says  "If  you  will 
provide  yourself  Mrs.  Lirriper  in  a  mouth  from 
this  day  /  have  already  done  the  same,"  which 
hurt  me  and  I  said  so,  and  she  then  hurt  me  more 
by  insinuating  that  her  father  having  failed  in 
Pork  had  laid  her  open  to  it. 

My  dear  I  do  assure  you  it's  a  harassing  thing 
to  know  what  kind  of  girls  to  give  the  preference 
to,  for  if  they  are  lively  they  get  boll'd  off  their 
legs  and  if  they  are  sluggish  you  suffer  from  it 
yotfrself  in  complaints  and  il' they  are  sparkling- 
eyed  they  get  made  love  to  and  if  they  are  smart 
in  their  persons  they  try  on  your  Lodger's  bon- 
nets and  if  the)  are  musical  I  defy  you  to  keep 
them  away  from  bands  and  organs,  and  allowing 
for  any  difference  you  like  in  their  heads  their 
heads  will  be  always  out  of  window  just  the 
same  And  then  what  the  gentlemen  like  in 
girls  the  ladies  don't,  which  is  fruitful  hot  water 
for  all  parties,  ajnl  then  there's  temper  though 
such  a  temper  as  Caroline  Mnxey's  1  hope  not 
often.  A  good-looking  black-eyed  girl  was  Car- 
oline and  a  comedy  made  girl  to  your  cost  wdien 
she  did  break  out  and  laid  about  her,  as  took 
place  first  nnd  last,  through  a  now-married  couplo 
come  to  see  London  in  the  first  floor  and  the  lady 
very  high  and  il  was  supposed  not  liking  the 
good  looks  of  Caroline  having  none  of  her  own 
to  spare,  but  anyhow  she  did  try  Caroline  though 
that  was  no  excuse.  So  one  afternoon  Caroline 
comes  down  into  the  kitchen  flushed  and  flash- 
ing, and  she  says  to  me  "Mrs.  Lirriper  that 
woman  in  the  first  has  aggravated  me  past  bear- 
ing," I  says  "Caroline  keep  your  temper,"  Car- 
oline says  with  a  curdling  laugh  "Keep  my 
temper?  You're  right  Mrs  Lirriper,  so  I  will. 
Capital  I)  bca-  !"  bursts  out  Oarolino  (you  might 
have  struek  me  into  the  centre  of  the  earth  with 
a  leather  when  she  said  it)  "I'il  give  her  a  touch 
of  tin-  temper  that/  keep!"  Caroline  downs 
with  her  hnir  my  dear,  screeches  and  rushes  up 
stairs,  I  follov  I    as    my    trembling  legs 

could  bear  me,  but  In  lor.-  I  got  into  the    room  the 
dinner   cloth    and   pink    nnd      white    service    all 
I    off  upon  the    floor  with  a  crash  and  the 
new-married    couple    on    their    backs  in  the  fire- 
on  with  the  «hovel  and  tongs  and    a    dish 
of  cucumber    aci  rots   him    and    a    mercy  it  was 
summer-time.     "Ourolinc"  I  say-  "be  calm,"  but 
By    ■  ip  and  tears   it  in    her   tocth 


P33fiF..Q 


MRS.  LlRUIPERS  L0DG1XGS. 


as  she  passes  me,  then  pounces  on  the  new  married 
lady  makes  her  a  bundle  of  ribbons   takes  her  by 
the  two  ears  and  knocks    the  back    of   her  head 
upon  the  carpet  Murder  screaming   all  the    time 
Policemen  running  down  the   street   and  Wozen- 
ham's  windows  (judge  of  my  feelings  when  I  came 
to  know  it)  thrown  up  and  Miss  Wozenham    call- 
ing out  from  the  balcony    with  crocodile's    tears 
"It's  Mrs.  Lirriper  been  overcharging    somebody 
to  madness  —  she'll    be  murdered  —  I    always 
thought  so — Pleeseman  save  her!"    My  dear  four 
of  them  and  Caroline  behind   the    chifToniore   at- 
tacking with  the  poker  and  when   disarmed  prize 
fighting  with  her  double   fists,  and  down   and   up 
and  up  and  down  and  dreadful !     But  I  Couldn't 
bear  to  see  the  poor   young  creature  rough  han- 
dled and  her  hair  torn  when  they  got  the  better  of 
her,    and   I  says    "Gentlemen    Policemen  pray 
remember  that  her  sex  is  the  sex  of  your  mothers 
and  sisters  and  your  sweethearts,  and    God  bless 
them  and  you  !"     And  there  she  was  sitting  down 
on  the  ground  handcuffed,  taking   breath  against 
the  skirting-board  and  them  cool  with  their  coats 
in  strips,  and  all   she  says  was  "Mrs.  Lirriper  I 
am  sorry  as  ever  I  touched  yon,  for  you're  a  kind 
motherly  old  thing,"  and  it  made  me  think    that 
I  had  often  wished  I  had  been    a    mother  indeed 
and  how  would  my  heart  have  felt  if  I  had    been 
the  mother  of  that  girl !     Well  you  know  it  turn- 
ed out  at  the  Police-office  that  she  had  done  it  be- 
fore, and  she  had  her  clothes  away    and  was  sent 
to  prison,  and  when  she  was  to  come  out  I  trotted 
off  to  the  gate  in  the  evening   with  just  a   morsel 
of  jelly  in  that  little  basket  of  mine  to  give  her  a 
mite  of  strength    to    face    the  world  again,  and 
there  I  met  with  a  very  decent  mother  waiting  for 
her  son    through  bad   company  and   a  stubborn 
one  he  was  with  his  half  boots  not  laced.     So  out 
came  Caroline  and  I  says  "Caroline  come   along 
with  me  and  sit  down  under  the  wall    where    it's 
retired  and  eat  a  little  trifle  that  I  have   brought 
with   me  to  do  you  good"    and   she  throws  her 
arms  round  my  neck   and  says    sobbing    "O    why 
were  you  never  a  mother   when    there    are  such 
mothers  as  there  are  !"  she  says,   and  in    a  half  a 
minute  more  she  begins  to  laugh  and  says  "Did  I 
really  tear  your  cap  to  shreds  ?  "  and  when  I  told 
her  "You  certainly  did  so  Caroline"  she   laughed 
again  and  said  while  she  patted  my    face    "Then 
why  do  you   wear  such  queer  old    caps  you  dear 
old  thing  7     If  you  hadn't  worn    such    queer    old 
caps  I  don't  think  I  should    have   done    it    even 
then."     Fancy  tha  girl !     Nothing  could    get  out 
of  her  what  she  was  going  to  do    except    0  she 
would  do  well  enough,  and  we  parted    she   being 
very  thankful  and  kissing  my  hands,   and  I  never 
more  saw  or  heard  of  that  girl,   except  I  shall  al- 
ways believe  that  a  very   genteel   cap    which  was 


brought  anonymous  to  me  one  Saturday  night  in 
an  oil-skin  basket  by  a  most  impertinent  young 
sparrow  of  a  monkey  whistling  with  dirty  shoes 
on  the  clean  steps  and  playing  the  harp  on  the 
Airy  railings  with  a  hoop-stick  came  from  Car- 
oline. 

What  you  lay  yourself  open  to  my  dear    in   the 
way  of  being  the  object  of  uncharitable  suspicions 
when  you  go  into  the  Lodging  business  I  have  not 
the  words  to  tell  you,  but  never  was    I  so    dishon- 
ourable as  to  have  two  keys  nor   would  I  willing- 
ly think  it  even  of  Miss  Wozenham,   lower  down- 
on  the  other  side  of  the  way  sincerely  hoping  that 
it  may  not  be,  though  doubtless  at  the  same  time 
money  cannot  come  from  nowhere    and  it  is  not 
reason  to  suppose  that  Bradshaws    put    it  in   for 
love  be  it  blotty  as  it  may.     It  is  a  hardship  hurt- 
ing to  the  feelings  that  Lodgers  open  their  minds 
so  wide  to  the  idea  that  you  are  trying  to  get  the 
better  of  them  and  shut  their  minds  so  close  to  the 
idea  that   they  are    trying  to  get    the    better  of 
you,  but  as  Major  Jackman  says  to  me    "I  know 
the  ways    of  this    circular  world    Mrs.   Lirriper, 
and  that's  one  of  'em  all  round  it"    and   many   is 
the  little  ruffle  in    my   mind    that  the   Major  has 
smoothed,  for  he    is  a  clever  man  who  has   seen 
much.     Dear  dear,   thirteen    years    have    passed 
though  it  seems  but  yesterday  since  I  was    sitting 
with   my   glasses  on    at    the   open   front  parlour 
window  one  evening  in  August  (the  parlours  being 
then  vacant)  reading  yesterday's  paper  my    eyes 
for  print  being  poor  though  still  I  am  thankful  to 
say   a   long   6ight    at  a  distance,  when  I  hear  a 
gentleman  come  posting  across  the  road   and    up 
the  streets  in  a  dreadful   rage  talking  to  himself 
in  a  fury    and    d'ing  and  c'ing  somebody.     "By 
George !"   says   he   out  loud   and   clutching   his 
walking-stick.  "I'll  go  to  Mrs.  Lirriper's.  Which 
is  Mrs.    Lirriper's  ?"     Then  looking  round    and 
seeing  me  he  flourishes  his  hat  right offhis head  as 
if  I  had  been  the  queen  and  he   says  "Excuse  the 
intrusion  Madam,  but  pray  Madam  can   you  tell 
me  at  what  number  in  this  street    there  resides  a 
well-known  and  much-respected  lady  by  the  name 
of  Lirriper?"     A  little   flustered    though  I  must 
say  gratified  I  took  off  my  glasses  and   curtseyed 
and  said  "Sir,  Mrs.  Lirriper  is  your   humble    ser- 
vant."    "As-tonishing  !"     said   he.     "A    million 
pardons!  Madam,  may  I    ask  you  to  have  the 
kindness  to  direct  one  of  your  domestics    to   open 
the  door  to  a  gentleman  in  search  of  apartments, 
by  the  name  of  Jackman?"     I  had    never  heard 
the  name  but  a  politer  geDtleman  I  never  hope  to 
see,   for  says  he  "Madam    I  am  shocked  at  your 
opening  the  door  yourself  to  no    worthier    fellow 
than  Jemmy   Jackman.     After  you    Madam.     I 
never  precede  a  lady."     Then  he  comes    into  the 
parlour*  und  he  sniff*  and  h«  say*  "Huh  !     These 


MRS.  LIRRIPERS  LODGINGS 

are  parlours  !  Not  musty  cupboards"  he  says  "but 
parlours,  and  no  smell  of  coal-sacks."  Now  my 
dear  it  having  been  remarked  by  some  inimical 
to  the  whole  neighbourhood  that  it  always  smells 
of  coal-sacks  which  might  prove  a  drawback  to 
Lodgers  if  encouraged,  t  says  to  the  Major  gently 
though  firmly  that  I  think  he  is  referring  to  Ar- 
undel or  Surrey  or  Howard  but  not  Norfolk. 
■"Madam"  says  he  "I  refer  to  Wozenham's  lower 
down  over  the  way — Madam  you  can  form  no  no- 
tion what  Wozenham's  is — Madam  it  is  avast  coal- 
sack,  and  Miss  Wozenham  has  the  principles  and 
manners  of  a  female  heaver — Madam  from  the 
manner  in  which  I  have  beard  her  mention  you  I 
know  she  has  no  appreciation  of  a  lady,  and  from 
the  manner  in  which  she  has  conducted  herself 
towards  me  I  know  she  bus   no    appreciation  of  a 

gentleman Madam  my   name    is   Jackman — 

should  you  require  any  other  reference  than  what 
I  have  already  said,  I  name  the  Bank  of  England 
— perhaps  you  know  it!"  Such  was  the  beginning 
of  the  Major's  occupying  the  parlours  and  from 
that  hour  to  this  the  same  and  a  most  obliging 
Lodger  and  punctual  in  all  respects  except  one 
irregular  which  I  need  not  particularly  specify,  but 
made  up  for  by  his  being  a  protection  and  at  all 
times  ready  to  fill  in  the  papers  of  the  Assessed 
Taxes  and  Juries  and  that,  and  once  collared  a 
young  man  with  the  drawing-room  clock  under 
his  cloak,  and  once  on  the  parapets  with  his  own 
hands  and  blankets  put  out  the  kitchen  chimnev 
and  afterwards  attending  the  summons  made 
a  most  eloquent  speech  against  the  Parish  before 
the»magistrates  and  saved  the  engine,  and  ever 
quite  the  gentleman  though  passionate.  And  cer- 
tainly Miss  Wozcnham's  detaining  the  trunks  and 


umbrella  was  not  in  a  liberal  spirit  though  it  may 
have  been  according  to  her  rights  in  law  or  an 
act  7  would  myself  have  stooped  to,  the  Major 
being  so  much  the  gentleman  that  though  he  is 
far  from  tall  he  seems  almost  so  when  he  has  his 
shirt  frill  out  and  his  frock-coat  on  and  his  hat 
with  the  curly  brims,  and  in  what  service  he  was 
I  cannot  truly  tell  you  my  dear  whether  Militia 
or  Foreign,  for  I  never  heard  him  even  name 
himself  as  Major  but  always  simple  "Jemmy 
Jackman"  and  once  soon  after  he  came  when  I 
felt  it  my  duty  to  let  him  know  that  Miss  Wo- 
zenham had  put  it  about  that  ho  was  no  Major 
and  I  took  the  liberty  of  adding  "which  you  are 
sir"  his  words  were  "Madam  at  any  rate  lam 
not  a  Minor,  and  sufficient  for  the  day  is  the  evil 
thereof  which  cannot  be  denied  to  be  the  sacred 
truth,  nor  yet  his  military  ways  of  having  bis 
boots  with  only  the  dirt  brushed  off  taken  to 
him  in  the  front  parlour  every  morning  on  a  clean 
plate  and  varnishing  them  himself  with  a  little 
sponge  and  a  saucer  and  a  whistle   in   a  whisper 


so  sure  as  ever  his  breakfast  is  ended,  and  so  neat 
his  ways  that  it  never  soils  his  linen  which  is 
scrupulous  though  more  in  quality  than  quantity, 
neither  that  nor  hie  muus'tachios  which  to  the  best 
of  my  belief  are  done  at  the  same  time  and  which 
are  as  black  and  shining  as  his  boots,  his  head 
of  hair  being  a  lovely  white. 

It  was  the  third  year  nearly  up  of  the  Major's 
being  in  the  parlours  that  early  ono  morning  in 
the  month  of  February  when  Parliament.  «'«i 
coming  on  and  you  may  therefore  suppose  a  num- 
ber of  impostors  were  about  ready  to  tnko  hold 
of  anything  they  could  get,  a  gentleman  and  lady 
from  th*.  country  came  in  to  view  the  Second, 
and  I  well  remember  that  I  had  been  looking  out 
of  window  and  had  watched  them  and  the  heavy 
sleet  driving  down  the  street  together  looking  for 
bills.  I  did  not  quite  take  to  the  face  of  the 
gentleman  though  he  was  good-looking  too  but 
the  lady  was  a  very  pretty  young  thing  and  del- 
icate, and  it  seemed  too  rough  for  her  to  be  out  at 
all  though  she  had  only  come  from  the  Adelphi 
Hotel  which  would  have  not  been  much  above 
than  a  quarter  of  a  mile  if  the  weather  had  been 
less  severe.  Now  it  did  so  happen  my  dear 
that  I  had  been  forced  to  put  five  shillings  weekly 
additional  on  the  second  in  consequence  of  a  loss 
from  running  away  full-dressed  as  if  going  out  to  a 
dinner  party,  which  was  very  artful  and  had  made 
me  rather  suspicious  taking  it  along  with  Parlia- 
ment, so  when  the  gentleman  proposed  threo 
months  certain  and  the  money  in  advanae  and 
leave  then  reserved  to  rct.ew  on  the  same  terms 
for  six  months  more,  I  says  I  was  not  quite  cer- 
tain but  that  I  might  have  engaged  myself  to 
another  party  but  woul  I  step  down  stairs  and 
look  into  it  if  they  would  take  a  seat.  They  took 
a  seat  and  I  went  down  t>  the  handle  of  the  Maj- 
or's doorthat  I  bad  already  begun  to  consult,  find- 
ing it  a  great  blessing,  and  I  knew  by  his  whistling 
in  a  whisper  that  he  was  varnishing  his  boots 
which  was  generally  considered  private,  however 
he  kindly  calls  out  'If  it's  you,  Madam,  come  in," 
and  I  went  in  and  told  him. 

"Well  Madam,"  says  the  Major  rubbing  his 
nose — as  I  did  fear  at  the  moment  with  the 
black  sponge  but  it  was  only  his  knuckle,  he  be- 
ing always  neat  and  dexterous  with  his  fingers — 
"well,  Madam,  I  suppose  you  would  be  glad  of 
the  money  ?" 

I  was  delicate  of  saying  "Yes"  too  out,  for  a  lit- 
tle extra  colour  rose  into  the  Major's  cheeks  and 
there  was  irregularity  w  hich  I  will  not  particu- 
larly specify  in  a. quarter  which  I  will  not  name. 

"I  am  of  opinion,  Madam,"  says  the  Major 
"that  when  money  is  ready  lor  yon — when  it  is 
ready  for  you  Mrs.  Lirripej — you    ought  to  taki 


8 


MRS.   LIRRIPER'S  LODGINGS. 


it.     What   is    there  against   it,    Madam,  in  this 
case  up-stairs  ?" 

"I  really  cannot  say  there  is  anything  against 
it  sir,  still  I  thought  I  would  consult  you." 

"You  said  a  newly-married  couple,  I  think, 
Madam,"  says  the  Major. 

I  says  "Ye-es.  Evidently.  And  indeed  the 
young  lady  mentioned  to  me  in  a  -casual  way  that 
she  had  not  been  married  many  months." 

The  Major  rubbed  his  nose  again  and  stirred 
the  varniah  round  and  round  in  its  little  saucer 
with  his  piece  of  sponge  and  took  to  his  whis- 
tling in  a  whisper  for  a  few  moments.  Then  he 
says  "You  would  call  it  a  Good  Let,  Madam  ?" 

"Oh  certainly  a  Good  Let  sir." 

"Say  they  renew  for  the  additional  six  months. 
Would  it  put  yon  about  very  much  Madam  if — 
if  the  worst  was  to  come  to  the  worst  ?"  said  the 
Major. 

"Well  I  hardly  know,"  1  says  to  the  Major. 
"It  depends  upon  circumstances.  Would  you 
object  sir  for  instance  ?" 

•    "I?"    says   the  Major.       "Object?       Jemmy 
Jackman  1     Mrs.    Lirriper   close   with    the  pro- 
.  posal." 

So  I  went  up-stairs  and  accepted,  and  they 
came  in  next  day  which  was  Saturday  aid  ii  e 
Major  was  so  good  as  to  draw  up  a  Memoran- 
dum of  an  agreement  in  a  beautiful  round  hand 
'  and  expressions  that  sounded  to  me  equally  le- 
gal and  military,  and  Mr.  Edson  signed  it  on  the 
Monday  morning  and  the  Major  called  upon  Mr. 
Edson  on  the  Tuesday  and  .Mr.  Edson  called 
upon  the  Major  on  the  Wednesday  and  the  Sec- 
ond and  the  parlours  were  as  friendly  as  could 
be  wished. 

The  three  months  paid  for  had  run  out  and  we 
had  got  without  any  fresh  overtures  as  to  pay- 
ment into  May  my  dear,  when  there  came  an 
obligation  upon  Mr  Edson  to  go  an  business  ex- 
pedition right  across  the  Isle  of  Man,  which  fell 
quite  unexpected  on  that  pretty  little  thing  and 
is  not  a  place  that  according  to  my  views  is  par- 
ticularly in  the  way  or  anywhere  at  any  time  but 
that  may  be  a  matter  of  opinion.  So  short  a 
notice  was  it  that  he  was  to  go  next  day,  and 
dreadfully  she  cried  poor  pretty  and  I  am  sure  I 
cried  too  when  I  saw  her  on  the  cold  pavement 
■  in  the  sharp  east  wind — it  being  a  very  backward 
spring  that  year — taking  a  last  leave  of  him  with 
her  pretty  bright  hair  blowing  this  way  and  that 
and  her  arms  clinging  round  his  neck  and  him 
paying  "There  there  there  !  Now  let  me  go 
Peggy  "  And  by  that  time  it  was  plain  that 
what  the  Major  had  been  so  accommodating  as 
to  say  he  would  r.ot  object  to  happening  in  the 
house,  would  happen  in  it,  and  I  told  her  as 
.much  when  lie  was  gone    while    1    comforted  her 


with  my  arm  up  the  staircase,  for  I  says  "  You 
will  soon  have  others  to  keep  up  for  my  pretty 
and  you  must  think  of  that." 

His  letter  never  came  when  it  ought  to  have 
come  and  what  she  went  throngh  morning  after 
morning  when  the  postman  brought  none  for 
her  the  very  postman  himself  compassionated 
when  she  ran  down  tp  the  door,  and  yet  we  can- 
not wonder  at  its  being  calculated  to  blunt  the 
feelings  to  have  all  the  trouble  of  other  people's 
letters  and  none  of  the  pleasure  and  doing  it  of- 
tetier  in  the  mud  and  mizzle  than  not  and  at  a 
rate  of  wages  more  resembling  Little  Britain 
than  Grout.  But  at  last  one  morning  when  she 
was  too  poorly  to  come  running  down  stairs  he 
says  to  me  with  a  pleasant  look  in  his  face  that 
made  me  next  to  love  the  man  in  his  uniform 
coat  though  he  was  dripping  wet  "I  have  taken 
you  first  in  the  street  this  morning  Mrs.  Lirriper, 
for  here's  the  one  for  Mrs.  Edson."  I  went  up 
to  her  bedroom  with  it  fast  as  ever  I  could  go» 
and  she  sat  up  in  bed  when  she  saw  it  and  kissed 
it  and  tore  it  open  and  then  a  blank  stare  came, 
upon  her.  "It's  very  short!"  she  says  lifting  her 
large  eyes  to  my  face.  "Oh  Mrs.  Lirriper  it's 
very  short !"  I  says  "My  dear  Mrs.  Edson  no 
doubt  that's  because  your  husband  hadn't  time 
to  write  more  just  at  that  time."  "No  doubt, 
no  doubt,"  says  she,  and  puts  her  two  hands  on 
her  f  ice  and  turns  round  in  her  bed. 

I  shut  her  softly  in  and  I  crept  down  stairs 
an!  I  tapped  at  the  Major's  door,  and  when  the 
Major  havi'ig  his  thin  slices  of  bacon  in  his  own 
Dutch  oven  saw  me  he  come  out  of  his  chair  and 
put  me  down  on  the  sofa.  "Hush!"  says  he,  "I 
see  something's  the  matter.  Don't  speak — take 
time."  I  says  "O  Major  I'm  afraid  there's  cruel, 
work  up-stairs."  "Yes  yes"  sajs  he  "I  had  be- 
gun to  be  afraid  of  it — take  time."  And  then 
in  opposition  to  his  own  words  he  rages  out 
frightfully,  and  says  "I  shall  never  forgive  myself 
Madam,  that  I,  Jemmy  Jackman,  didn't  see  it 
all  that  morning — didn't  go  straight  up-stairs 
when  my  boot  sponge  was  in  my  hand — didn't 
force  it  down  his  throat — and  choke  him  dead 
with  it  on  the  spot!" 

The  Major  and  me  agreed  when  we  came  to 
ourselves  that  just  at  present  we  could  do  no 
more  than  take  on  to  suspect  nothing  and  use 
our  best  endeavors  to  keep  that  poor  young 
creature  quiet,  and  what  I  ever  should  have  done 
without  the  Major  when  it  got  about  among  the 
or<?an-men  that  quiet  was  our  object  is  unknown, 
for  he  made  lion  and  tiger  war  upon  them  to 
that  degree  that  without  seeing  it  I  could  not 
have  believed  it  was  in  any  gentleman  to  have 
such  a  power  of  bursting  out  with  fire-irons 
walking-sti   k      water-jugs   coal*   potatoes  oil'  Ins 


MRS.   LIRIHPKR'S  LODGINGS. 


table  the  very  hat  off  his  head,  and  at  the  same 
time  so  furious  in  foreign  language  that  they 
would  stand  with  their  handles  half  turned 
fixed  like  the  Sleeping  Ugly — for  I  cannot  say 
Beauty. 

Ever  to  see  the  postman  come  near  the.  house 
ave  me  such  a  fear  thai  it  was  a  reprieve 
when  he  went  by,  biit  in  about  another  ten  days 
or  a  fortnight  he  says'  again  "Here's  one  for 
Mrs.  Edsom. — Is  she  pretty  well?"  "She  is 
pretty  well  postman,  hut  not  well  enough  to  rise 
so  early  as  she  used"  which  was  so  far  gospel 
truth. 

I  carried  the  letter  in  to  the  Major  at  his 
breakfast  and  1  says  tottering  ".Major  1  have  not 
the  courage  to  take  it  up  to  her." 

"It's  an  ill-looking  villain  of  a  letter,"  says 
the  Major. 

"I  ha  coura  ■■   Major?  I  says  again 

in  a  tremble  "to  take  it  up  to  her." 

After  seeming  lost  in  consideration  for  some 
moments  the  Major  says,  raising  his  head  as  if 
something  new  and  useful  had  occurred  to  les 
mind  "Mrs.  Lirriper,  I  shall  never  forgive  myself 
that  T,  Jemmy  Jackman,  didn't  go  straight  up- 
stairs that  morning  when  my  hoot  sponire  was  in 
my  hand — and  force  it  down  his  throat — and 
choke  him  dead  with  it." 

"Major"  I  says  n  little  hasty  "you  didn't  do  it 
which  is  a  blessing,  for  it  would  have  done  no 
.1  I  think  your  sponge  was  hotter  em- 
ployed on  your  own  honourable  hoots." 

Bo  we  gol   to  be  rational,  and  planned  that   I 

should  tap  at  her  hedroom  door  and  lay  the  let- 
ter on  the  mat  outside  and  wait  on  the  Upper 
landing  for  what  might  happen,  and  never  was 
gunpow  ler  cannon-balls  or  shells'  or 
mote  dreaded  than  that  dreadful  letter  was  by 
me  as  I  took  it  to  the  second  floor, 
A  terrible  loud    scream  sounded   through   the 

the    minute    after  she    had    opened  it,    and 

1  found  ber  on  the  floor  lying  as  if  her  life  was 
rone.  .\;\  ,;,  ar  I  sever  looked  at  the  face  of  the 
l<  tter  which  was  lying  open  hy  ber,  for  there  was 
no  occasion. 

Everything  I    needed  to  bring   her  round  the 
brought    up  with  his    own    hand-. 

running  out  to  the  chemist's  for   what   w 
in  the  house  and  likewise   having   the  fieri 

all    his    many  skirmishes    with  a  musical    instru- 
ment representing  a  hall-room  1    do    not  know  in 
what    particular  country    and  company   <■ 
in   and    out    at    folding-doors    with     rollin 
\N  hen  after  a  long  time  |  .saw   In  r  coming  to,  I 
slipped  on  the  landing'till    1  heard  ler   i 
then    I  went    in  and 

*  not  will   my  dear  anil    it's  not  to  !. 

dered  at,"  as   if  I    hod 


Whether  she  believed  or  disbelieved  I  cannot  say 
and  it  would  signify  nothing  if  I  could,  hut  I 
stayed  hy  her  for  hours  and  then  she  God  ever 
me!  and  says  she  will  try  to  rest  for  her 
head  is  had. 

"Major,"  I  whispers,  looking  in  at  the  par- 
lours, "I  beg  and  pray  of  you  don't  go  out." 

Tin'  Major  whispers  "Madam,  trust  me  I  will 
do  no  such  a  thing.      How  is  she?" 

-  "Major  the  rood  Lord  above  us  only 
know-  what  hums  and  rages  in  her  poor  mind. 
I  left  her  sitting  at  her  window.  I  am  going  to 
sit  at  mine." 

It  came  on  afternoon  and  it  came  on  evening. 
Norfolk  is.    a    delightful    91  I  Ige  in — pro- 

vided  you  don't   go  lower   down — hut  of  a  sum- 
mer evening  when  the  dust  and  waste  paper  lie 
in  it  and  stray   children  play  in   it  and  a   kind    of 
a  gritty    Calm  and   hake  settles  on    it    and  a    peal 
of  church-hells  is  practising  in  the  neighborhood 
it  is  a  trifle  dull,  and  never  have  f  seen  it  since 
at  such  a  time  and   never  shall  I    see  it  eVi 
at   such    a    time    without    seeing    the  dull   Juno 
evening  when  that  forlorn  young  creature 
her  open  corner    window  on  tie'  second    and  me 
at    my  open   corner  window   (the  other  . 
on    the  third.     Something    merciful,    something 
wiser  and  better  far  than  my  own  sell',  had    mov- 
ed me  while  it  was  yet  light    to  sit  in  my   bonnet 
and    shawl,    and    as    the    shadows    fell    and    the 
tide  rose  I  could  sometimes — when  I  put  oat  my 
head  and  looked  at  her  window  below — se 
she   leaned   out  a  little   looking   down  the   street. 
settling  dark  when  I  saw  her  in  the 
street. 

So  fearful  of  losing  sight  of  her  that  it  almost 
slops  my  breath  while  I  I'll  it,  I  went  down  stairs 
faster  than  I  ever  moved  in  all  my  lit'"  and  only 
tapped  with  my  hand  at  the  Major's  door  in 
it  and  slipped  out.  She  was  gone  al- 
ready.    I  made  tie  1  down  thi 

and  when   I   cam  ■  to  the  corner  of   How   n    |- 
I  saw  that  she  had  turned  it  and  was  there  plain 
before  me  going  towards  the  west.     <)  with  what 
a  thankful  heart  I  saw  her  going  al 

Sin-  was  quite  unacquainted  with  London  and 
had  vi tv  seldom  ln-en  out  for  more  than  an  air- 
ing in    our  own     street     where    she    knew    tWO     or 

throe  little  children  belonging  toneighboui 

had  sometimes    stood    among   them  at  the    end   of 

•  t    looking  at    the  water.      She    must    be 

going  at  hazards  I  knew,  still  she  kept  the  hy- 

her,  and  then    turned  up    into  I  But 

I      SOUld    see     her   head    till'-!' 

way,  and  ti  Irer  way. 

It  may  have  been  only  tin-  i  '   quiet 

i  t   the  Adelphi  that  into  it 


10 


MllS.  LLRRIPERS  LODGINGS. 


but  she  struck  ihto  it  much  as  readily  as  if  she 
had  set  out  to  go  there,  which  perhaps  was  the 
case.  She  went  straight  down  to  the  Terrace 
and  along  it  and  looked  over  the  iron  rail,  and 
I  often  woke  afterwards  in  my  own  bed  with  the 
horror  of  seeing  her  doing  it.  The  desertion  of 
the  wharf  below  and  the  flowing  of  the  high 
water  there  seemed  to  settle  her  purpose.  She 
looked  about  as  if  to  make  out  the  way  down, 
and  she  struck  out  the  right  Way  or  the  wrong 
way — I  don't  know  which,  for  I  don't  know  the 
place  before  or  since — and  I  followed  her  the 
way  she  went. 

It  was  noticeable  that  all  this  time  she  never 
once  looked  back.  But  there  was  now  a  great 
change  in  the  manner  of  her  going,  and  instead 
of  going  at  a  steady  quick  walk  with  her  arms 
folded  before  her, — among  the  dark  dismal  arch- 
es she  went  in  a  wild  way  with  her  arms  opened 
'wide,  as  if  they  were  wing*  and  she  was  flying 
to  her  death. 

We  were  on  the  wharf  and  she  stopped.  I 
stopped.  I  saw  her  hands  at  her  bonnet-strings, 
and  I  rushed  between  her  and  the  brink  and  took 
her  round  the  waist  with  both  my  arms.  She 
might  have  drowned  me,  I  felt  then,  but  she 
could  never  have  got  quit  of  me. 

Down  to  that  moment  my  mind  had  been  all 
in  a  maze  and  not  half  an  idea  had  I  had  in  it 
what  I  should  say  to  her,  but  the  instant  I  touch- 
ed her  it  came  to  me  like  magic  and  I  had  my 
natural  voice  and  my  senses  and  even  almost  my 
breath. 

"Mrs.  Edson  !"  I  says  "My  dear  !  Take  care. 
How  ever  did  you  lose  your  way  and  stumble  on 
a  dangerous  place  like  this?  Why  you  must 
have  come  here  by  the  most  perplexing  streets 
in  all  London.  No  wonder  you  are  lost,  I  am 
sure.  And  this  place  too !  Why  I  thought  no- 
body ever  got  here,  except  me  to  order  my  coals 
and  the  Major  in  the  parlours  to  smoke  his  cigar!" 
— for  I  saw  that  blessed  man  close  by,  pretending 
to  it. 

"Hah — Hah — Hum  !"  coughs  the  Major. 

"And  good  gracious  me"  I  says,  "why  here 
he  is!" 

"Halloa!  who  goes  there!"  says  the  Major 
in  a  military  manner. 

"Well!"  I  says,  "if  this  don't  beat  everything  \ 
Don't  you  know  us  Major  Jackman  ?" 

"Halloa!"  says  the  Major.  "Who  calls  on 
Jemmy  Jackman?"  (and  more  out  of  breath  he 
was,  and  did  it  less  like-life,  than  I  should  have 
expected. 

"Why  here's  Mrs.  Edson  Major"  I  says, 
"strolling  out  to  cool  her  poor  head  which  has 
been  very  bad,  has  missed  her  way  and  got  lost, 
and  Goodness  knows  where  she  might  have   got 


to  but  for  me  coming  here  to  drop  an  order  into 
my  coal  merchant  s  letter-box  and  you  coming 
here  to  smoke  your  cigar! — And  you  really  are 
not  well  enough  my  dear"  I  says  to  her  "to  bo 
half  so  far  from  home  without  me. — And  your 
arm  will  be  very  acceptable  I  am  sure  Major"  I 
says  to  him  "and  I  know  she  may  lean  upon  it 
as  heavy  as  she  likes."  And  now  we  had  both 
got  her — thanks  be  Above  ! — one  on  each  side. 

She  was  all  in  a  cold  shiver  and  she  so  con- 
tinued till  I  laid  her  on  her  own  bed,  and  up  to 
the  early  morning  she  held  me  by  the  hand  and 
moaned  and  moaned  "O  wicked,  wicked,  wick- 
ed!" But  when  at  last  I  made  believe  to  droop 
my  head  and  be  overpowered  with  a  dead  sleep, 
I  heard  that  poor  young  creature  give  such  touch- 
ing and  such  humble  thanks  for  being  preserved 
from  taking  her  own  life  in  her  madness  that  I 
thought  I  should  have  cried  my  eyes  out  on  the 
counterpane  and  I  knew  she  was  safe. 

Being  well  enough  to  do  and  able  to  afford  it, 
me  and  the  Major  laid  our  Jitile  plan  next  day 
while  she  was  asleep  worn  out,  and  so  I  says  to 
her  as  soon  as  I  could  do  it  nicely  : 

"Mrs.  Edson  my  dear,  when  Mr.  Edson  paid 
me  the  rent  for  these  further  six  months " 

She  gave  a  start  and  I  felt  her  large  eyes  look 
at  me,  but  I  went  on  with  it  and  with  my  nee- 
dlework. 

" 1  can't  say  that  I  am  quite  sure  I   dated 

the  receipt  right.     Could  you  let  me  look  at  it  ?'r 

She  laid  her  frozen  cold  hand  upon  mine  and 
she  looked  through  me  when  I  was  forced  to  look 
up  from  my  needlework;  but  I  had  taken  the 
precaution  of  having  on  my  spectacles. 

"I  have  no  receipt"  says  she. 

"Ah  !  Then  he  has  got  it"  I  says  in  a  careless 
way.  "It's  of  no  great  consequence.  A  receipt's 
a  receipt." 

From  that  time  she  always  had  hold  of  my 
hand  when  I  could  spare  it  which  was  generally 
only  when  I  read  to  her,  for  of  course  she  and  me 
had  our  bits  of  needlework  to  plod  at  and  neither 
of  us  was  very  handy  at  those  little  things,  though 
I  am  still  rather  proud  of  my  share  in  them  too 
considering.  And  though  she  took  to  all  I  read 
to  her,  I  used  to  fancy  that  next  to  what  was 
taught  upon  the  Mount  she  took  most  of  all  to 
His  young  life  and  to  how  his  mother  was  proud 
of  him  and  treasured  His  sayings  in  her  heart. 
She  had  a  grateful  look  in  her  eyes  that  never 
never  never  will  be  out  of  mine  until  they  are 
closed  in  my  last  sleep,  and  When  I  chanced  to 
look  at  her  without  thinking  of  it  I  would  always 
meet  that  look,  and  she  would  often  offer  me  her 
trembling  lips  to  kiss,  much  more  like  a  little 
affectionate  half-broken-hearted  child  than  ever 
I  can  imagine  any  grown  person. 


MRS.   LIRRIPERS  LODGINGS. 


Jl 


Ono  time  the  trembling  of  this  poor  lip  was  so 
etrongand  her  tears  ran  down  so  fast  that  I  thought 
she  was  going  to  tell  me  all  her  woe,  go  I  takes 
her  two  hands  in  mine  and  1  says  : 

"No  my  clear  not  now,  you  had  best  not  try 
it  now.  Wait  for  better  limes  when  you  have  got 
over  this  and  are  strung,  and  then  you  shall  tell 
me  whatever  you  will.      Shall  it  be  agreed  .'" 

With  our  hands  still  joined  she  nodded  her  head 
many  limes,  and  she  lifted  my  hands  and  put 
them  to  her  lips  and  to  her  bosom. 

"Only  ono  word  now  my  dear"  I  says.  "Is 
there  any  one  ?" 

She  looked  inquiringly  "Any  one  7" 
k  "That  I  can  go  to  !" 

She  shook  her  head. 

"No  one  that  I  can  bring!" 

She  shook  her  head, 

"No  one  is  wanted  by  mc  my  dear.  Now  that 
may  be  considered  past  and  gone." 

Not  much  more  than  a  week  afterwards — for 
this  was  far  in  the  time  of  our  being  so  together — 
I  was  bending  over  at  her  bedside  with  my  eat- 
down  to  her  lips, by  turns  listening  for  her  breath 
and  looking  for  a  sign  of  life  in  her  face.  At  hist 
it  came  in  a  solemn  way — not  in  a  flash  but  like 
a  kind  of  palefaint  light  brought  very  slow  to 
the  face. 

She  said  something  to  me  that  had  no  sound  in 
it,  but  I  saw  she  asked  me  : 

"Is  this  death  ?" 

And  1  says  "Poor  dear  poor  dear,  I  think  it  is." 

Knowing  Somehow  that  she  wanted  me  to 
move  her  weak  right  hand,  I  took  it  and  laid  it 
on  her  breast  and  then  folded  her  other  hand 
upon  it,  and  she  prayed  a  good  good  prayer  and 
1  join  in  it  poor  me  though  there  were  no  words 
spoke?.  Then  I  brought  the  baby  in  its  wrappers 
from  where  it  lay,  and  I  says  : 

"My  dear  this  is  sent  to  a  childless  old  wo- 
man.    This  is  forme  to  take  care  of." 

The  trembling  lips  was  put  up  towards  mv  face 
l  for  the  last  time,  and  1  dearly  kissed  it. 

"Ye* my  dear"  I  says.  "Please  God  !  me  and 
the  Major." 

I  don't  know  how  to  tell  it  right,  but  I  saw  her 
soul  brighten  and  leap  up,  and    |  id    fly- 

away in  the  grateful  look. 

8o  this  is  the  why  and  wherefore  of  it*  coming 
to  pass  my  dear  that  we  called  him  Jemmy,  being 
after  the  Major  his  own   godfather    with  Lirriper 
for  a  surname  being  after  myself,  and  nevi  . 
a  dear  child  such  a  brightet  in   ■    Lod* 

gings  or  such  a  playmate  to   his    grandmother  as 
Jemmy  to  this  house    and   me,  and    ah 
and  minding  what  he  was  to!.  1    (upon  the  whole) 
and  soothiogforthe  temper  and  making  cm  r 


pleasanfcr  except  when  he  grew  old  enough  to- 
drop  his  cap  down  Wozenhum's  Airy  and  they 
wouldn't  hand  it  up  to  him,  and  being  worked 
into  a  state  I  put  on  my  best  bonnet  and  gloves 
and  parasol  with  the  child  in  my  hand  and  I 
Bays  "Miss  Wozenham  I  little  thought  ever  to 
have  entered  your  house  but  unless  my  grandson's 
cap  is  instantly  restored,  the  laws  of  this  country 
regulating  the  property  of  the  Subject  shall  at 
length  decide  betwixt  yourself  and  me,  COSt  what 
it  may."  With  a  sneer  upon  her  face  which  did 
strike  me  I  must  say  as  being  expressive  of  two 
keys  but  it  may  have  been  a  mistake  and  if  then- 
is  uny  doubt  lest  Miss  Wozenham  have  the  full 
benefit  of  it  as  is  but  right,  she  rang  the  bell  and 
she  says  ".lane  is  there  a  street-child's  old  cap 
down  our  Airy  ?"  "Miss  Wozenham  before  your 
housemaid  answers  that  question  you  must  allow 
me  to  inform  you  to  your  face  that  my  grandson 
is  net  a  street-child  and  is  not  in  the  habit  of 
wearing  old  caps.  In  fact"  I  says  "Miss  V> 
ham  1  am  far'  from  sure  that  my  grandson's  cap 
may  not  be  newer  than  your  own"  which  was 
perfectly  savage  in  mc,  her  lace  being  th< 
monesl  machine-make  washed  and  torn  besides, 
but  I  have  been  put  into  a  state  to  begin  with 
fomented  by  impertinence.      Miss  Wozenham  savs 

red  in  the  face  "Jane  you  heard  my  question,  is 
there  any  child's  cap  down  our  Airy  7"  "Yes 
Ma'am"  says  Jane  "I  think  I  did  see  some  such 
rubbish  a  lying  there."  "Then"  says  Miss  Wo- 
zenham "let  these  visitors  out,  and  then  throw  up 
that  worthless  article  out  of  my  premises." 
Rut  here  the  child  who  bad  been  staring  at  Miss 
Wozenham  with  all  bis  eyes  and  more,  frowns 
down  his  little  eyebrows  purses  up  his  little 
mouth  puts  his  chubby  legs  far  apart  tOrns  his 
little  dimpled  lists  round  and  round  slowly  over 
one  another  like  I  little  coffee-mill,  ami 
ber ''Oo  impdent  to  ml  (linn,  me  tut  oor  hif" 
"Oh!"  says  Miss  Wozenham  looking  down  scorn- 
fully at  the  Mite  "this  is  not  [Id  is  it 
not!  Really  !"  I  bursts  out  laughing  and  , 
"Miss  Wo/.nbam  it  this  an't  a  pretty  sight  to 
you  I  don't  envy  year  feelings  and  I  wish  you 
good  day.  Jemmy  come  along  with  (iran."  And 
1  was  still  in  the  bctt  of  humours  though  I 
came   flying   up  into    the  street  M  if  it  had  been 

just  turned    on  out  of  the    wat-i -plug,  rind    [went 
home  laughing  all  the  way,  all  owing  to  thai 

boy. 

The  miles  mid    miles    that   me    and  tbe 
•  idled  with  Jemmy  in  the  dusk     Ix 
the  liphts  arc  not  to  be  Calculated,  Jemmy  driving 
on  the  coach-box  which  is  tic-  Major's  brans  bound 

■  «ide  in    tie 
chnit  and  the   Major  Guard  up  brh-n-l     « 


12 


MRS.  LIRRIPER'S  LODGINGS. 


brown-paper  horn  doing  it  wonderful.  I  do  assure  I  and  daggers,  and  me    and   the  Major  ran  in  and 
you  my  dear  that  sometimes  when  I  have  taken  a    out  like  wild  things    all  day   long  till  the  Major 


few  winks  in  my  place  inside  the  coach  and  have 
come  half  awake  by  the  flashing  light  of  the  fire 
and  have  heard  that  precious  pet  driving  and  the 
Major  blowing  up  behind  to  have  the  change  of 
horses  ready  when  we  got  to  the  Inn,  I  have  half  be- 
lieved we  were  on  the  old  North  Road  that  my 
poor  Lirriper  knew  so  well.  Then  to  see  that 
child  and  the  Major  both  wrapped  up  getting 
down  to  warm  their  feet  and  going  stamping 
about  and  having  glasses  of  ale  out  of  the  pape1' 
match-boxes  on  the  chimney  pieces  is  to  see  the 
Major  enjoing  it  fully  as  much  as  the  child  I  am 
very  sure,  and  its  equal  to  any  play  when  Coachee 
opens  the  coach-door  to  look  in  at  me  inside  and 
say  "Wery  'past  that  'tage. — 'Frightened  old 
lady?" 

But  what  my  inexpressible  feelings  were  when 
we  lost  that  child  can  only  be  compared  to  the 
Major's  which  were  not  a  shade  better,  through 
his  straying  out  at  five  years  old  and  eleven  o'clock 
in  the  forenoon  and  never  heard  of  by  word  or 
sign  or  deed  till  half-past  nine  at  night,  when  the 
Major  had  gone  to  the  Editor  of  the  Times  news- 
paper to  put  in  an  advertisement,  which  came  out 
next  day  four  and  twenty  hours  after  he  was 
found,  and  which  I  mean  always  carefully  to 
keep  in  my  lavender  drawer  as  the  first  printed 
account  of  him.  The  more  the  day  gone  on,  the 
more  I  get  distracted  and  the  Major  too  andboth 
of  us  made  worse  by  the  composed  ways  of  the 
police  though  very  civil  and  obliging  and  what  I 
must  call  their  obstinacy  in  not  entertaining  the 
idea  that  he  was  stolen.  "We  mostly  find  Mum" 
says  the  sergeant  who  came  round  to  comfort  me 
which  he  didn't  at  all  and  he  had  been  one  of  the 
private  constables  in  Caroline's  time  to  which  he 
referred  in  his  opening  words  when  he  said  "Don't 
give  way  to  uneasiness  in  your  mind  Mum,  it'll  all 
come  as  right  as  my  nose  did  when  I  got  the 
same  barked  by  that  young  woman  in  your  second 
floor" — says  this  sergeant  we  mostly  find  Mum 
as  people  ain't  over  anxious  to  have  what  I  may 
call  second-hand  children.  You'll  get  him  back 
Mum."  "O  but  my  dear  good  sir"  I  says  clasp- 
ing my  hands  and  wringing  them  and  clasping 
them  again  "he  is  such  an  uncommon  child!" 
"Yes  Mum"  says  the  sergeant,  "we  mostly  find 
that  too  Mum.  The  question  is  what  his  clothes 
■were  worth."  "His  clothes"  I  says  "were  not 
worth  much  sir  for  he  had    only  got  his  playing- 

dress  on,  but   the  dear  child ! "     "All  right 

Mum"  says  the  sergeant.  "You'll  get  him  back 
Mum.  And  even  if  he'd  had  his  best  clothes  on 
it  wouldn't  come  to.  worse  than  his  being  found 
wrapped  up  in  a  cabbage-leaf,  a  shivering  in  a 
lane."      His  words  pierced  my  heart  like  daggers 


returning  from  his  interview  with  the  Editor  of 
the  Times  at  night  rushes  into  my  little  room 
hysterical  and  squeezes  my  hand  and  wipes  his 
eyes  and  says  "Joy  joy — officer  in  plain  clothes 
came  up  on  the  steps  as  I  was  letting  myself  in — 
compose  your  feelings — Jemmy's  found."  Con- 
sequently I  fainted  away  and  when  I  came  to  em- 
brace the  legs  of  the  officer  in  plain  clothes  who 
seemed  to  be  taking  a  kind  of  quiet  inventory  in 
his  mind  of  the  property  in  my  little  room  with 
brown  whiskers,  and  I  says  "Blessing  on  you  sir 
where  is  the  Darling!"  and  he  says  "In  Kenning- 
ton  Station  House."  I  was  dropping  at  his  feet 
Stone  at  the  image  of  that  Innocence  in  cells 
with  murderers  when  he  adds  "He  followed  the 
Monkey."  I  says  deeming  it  slang  language  "Oh 
sir  explain  for  a  loving  grandmother  what  Mon- 
key !  He  says  "him  in  the  spangled  cap  with  the 
strap  under  the  chin,  as  won't  keep  on — him  as 
sweeps  the  crossings  on  a  round  table  and  don't 
want  to  draw  his  sabre  more  than  he  can  help." 
Then  I  understood  it  all  and  most  thankfully  thank- 
ed him,  and  me  and  the  Major  and  him  drove  over 
toKennington  and  there  we  found  our  boy  lying 
quite  comfortable  before  a  blazing  fire,  having 
sweetly  played  himself  to  sleep  upon  a  small  ac- 
cordeon  nothing  like  so  big  as  a  flat  iron  which 
they  had  been  so  kind  as  to  lend  him  for  the  pur- 
pose and  which  it  appeared  had  been  stopped 
upon  a  very  young  person. 

My  dear,  the  system  upon  which  the  Major 
commenced,  and  as  I  may  say  perfected  Jem- 
my's learning  when  He  was  so  small  that  if  the 
dear  was  on  the  other  side  of  the  table  you  had 
to  look  under  it  instead  of  over  it  to  see  him  with 
his  mother's  own  bright  hair  in  beautiful  Curls,  is 
a  thing  that  ought  tp  be  known  to  the  Throne 
and  Lords  and  Commons,  and  then  might  obtain 
some  promotion  for  the  Major  which  he  well  de- 
serves, and  would  be  none  the  worse  for  (speak- 
ing between  friends)  L.  S.  D.-ically.  When  the 
Major  undertook  his  learning,  he  says  to  me  : 

"  I'm  going  Madam,"  he  says,  "  to  make  our 
child  a  Calculating  Boy." 

"  Major,"  I  says,  "you  terrify  me,  and  may  do 
the  pet  a  permament  injury  you  would  never  for- 
give yourself." 

"  Madam,"  says  the  Major,  "next  to  my  re- 
gret that  when  I  had  my  boot-sponge  in  my  hand, 
I   didn't  choke    that   scoundrel  with    it— on  the 

spot " 

"  There  !  For  Gracious  sake  !"  I  interrupts, 
"let  his  conscience  find  him  without  sponges." 

,  " 1  say  next  to  that  regret,  Madam,"   says 

ill'.-  Major,  "  would  be  the   regret  with  which  my 
breosj,"  which  he  tapped,  "Would  be  surcharged 


MRS-   MRRIPKU'S   LODGINGS. 


13 


if  this  fine  mind  was  not  early  cultivated.  But 
mark  me,  Madam,"  says  the  Major,  holding  up 
his  forefinger,  "cultivated  on  a  principle  that 
will  make  it  a  delight." 

"  Major,"  I  says,  "  I  will  he  candid  with  you, 
and  tell  you  openly  that  if  aver  t  find  the  dear 
child  fall  off  in  his  appetite,  I  shall  know  it  is 
his  calculations,  and  shall  put  a  stop  to  them  at 
two  minutes1,  notice.  Or  if  I  find  them  naunt 
ing  to  hia  head,"  says  I,  "or  Striking  .-my  Ways 
cold  to  his  stomach,  or  leading  to  anything  ap- 
proaching flabbinesa  in  his  legs,  the  result  will 
be  the  same  ;    but   .Major  you    are  a  clever   man, 

and  have  seen  much,  and  you  love  the  child,  and 
k 

are  his  own  godfather,  and  if  you  feel  a  confi- 
dence in  trying  try." 

"Spoken,  Madam,"  says  the  Major  "  like  Em- 
ma Lirriper.  All  I  have  to  ask.  Madam,  is,  that 
you  will  leave  my  godson  and  myself  to  make  a 
week  or  two's  preparation  for  surprising  you,  and 
that  you  will  give  me  leave  to  have  np  and  down 
any  small  articles  not  actually  in  use  that  I  may 
require  from  the  kitchen." 

"From  the  kitchen  Major  !"  [  says,  half  feel- 
ing as  if  he  had   a  mind  to  cook  the  child. 

"  From  the  kitchen,  "  says  the  Major,  and 
smiles  and  swells,  and  at  the  same  time  looks 
taller. 

So  I  passed  my   word  and    the  Major  and   the 
dear  boy  were  shut   up  together  for  half  an   hour 
B    time  through    a   certain    while,  and   never 
a  could   I  hear    anything    going    on    betwixt    them 
but   talking    and   laughing  and  Jemmy   clapping 
his   hands  and   screaming    out  numbers,  so  1  taj  • 
to    myself,  "it    has    not    harmed    him    yet,"   nor 
could     I    on    examining  the    dear  find   any 
of  it  anywhere  about  him    which  was  likewise  a 
great  relief.      At  last   one  day  Jemmy  brin 
a  card  in    joke  in  the  Major's  neat  writing 
Means.  Jemmy  Jackman"  for  we  had  given  him 
the  Major's  other   name  i"  I  the  honour 

Mrs  Lb-riper' s   company  at  the  Jackman  In- 
r         stitution  in  the  front  parlour   this  e\ 

military  time,  to  witness  a  few  slight  feats  of  ele- 
mentary arithmetic."  And  if  you'll  believe  me 
there  in  the  front  parlour  at  five  punctual  to  the 
moment  was  tin-  MajoT  behind  the  Pembroke 
table  with  both  leaves  up  ami  a  lot  of  things  from 
the  kitchen  tidily  set  out  on  old  newspapers  sprend 
atop  of  it,  and  than  waa  the  Mite  stood  u 
chair  with  his  rosy  cheeks  Hushing  and  hi 
sparkling  clusters  of  diamonds. 

"  No  '  -it    .1  iu  n  ami  don't 

on  touch  ler  poople" — for  he  saw   w   I 

of  those  diamonds  of  his  t! 

him  a 

well  gir"  I  says    "1  am  ol  i  dicnt  in   this 
good  company  I  am  sure."     And  I  sits   down  in 


tlie  easy-chair   that  was  put  for  me,  shaking  my 
sides. 

But  picture  my  admiration  when  the  Major 
•  almost  as  quick  as  if  he  was  conjuring 
sets  out  all  the  articles  he  names,  and  says  "Three 
saucepans,  an  Italian  iron,  a  hand-bell,  a  toasting 
feik,  a  nutmeg-grater,  four  pot-lids,  a  spice-boxS 
two  egg-cups,  atnla  chopping-board,  how  many  '?" 
and  when  that  Mite  instantly  cries  "  Tifteen,  tut 
down  tive  and  carry  ler  'toppin-board"  and  then 
claps  his  hands  draws  up  his  legs  and  dances  on 
his  chair! 

My  dear  with  the  same  astonishing  case  and 
correct  less  him  and  the  Major  added  Dp  the  ta- 
bles chairs  and  sofy,  the  picters  fender  and  fire- 
irons  their  own  selves  me  ami  the  cat  and  the 
eyes  in  Miss  \Yo/.onham's  head,  and  whenever 
the  sum  was  done  Young  Roses  and  Diamonds 
chips  his  hands  and  draws  up  his  legs  and  dances 
on  his  chair. 

The  pride  of  the  Major!  {"Here's  a  mind 
Ma'am!"  he  says  to  me  behind  his  hand.) 

Then  he  says  aloud,  "  We  now  come  to  the 
next  elementary  rule :   which  is  called " 

"  Umtraction  !"  cries  Jemmy. 

"  Right,'"  says  the  Major.  "  We  have  here  a 
toasting-fork,  a  potato  in  its  natural  state,  two 
pot-lids,  one  egg-cup,  a  wooden  spoon,  and  two 
skewers,  from  which  it  |B  necessary  for  commer- 
cial purposes  to  subtract  a  sprat-gridiron, 
pickle-jar,  two  lemons,  one  pepper-castor, 
beetle-trap,  and  a  knob  of  the  dresser-drawer — 
what  remains!" 

"  Toatin-fork  !"  vcries  Jemmy. 

"  In  numbers  how  many  ?"  says  the  Major. 

"  <  )ne  !"  cries  Jemmy. 

{"Here's  a  hoy.  Ma'am  !"  says  the  Major  to 
me,  behind  his  hand.) 

Then  the-  Major  goes  on: 

"  We  now  approach  the  next  elementary  rule  : 
which  is  entitled " 

"  Tiokleication  !"  cries  Jemmy. 

"  Correct"  says  the  Major. 

Hut  my  dear  t"  relate  to  you  in  detail  the  way 
in  which    they    multiplied  fourteen  Sticks  of  fire- 
woo, 1   hv  two  bitS  Of  I  ling-nee,  ||c, 
or  divided    pretty  well    everything    sisfl  there  was 
on  the  table  by  the  heater  of  the  Italian  iron  and 
a  chain                    -  tick,   ami    gol  a  lemon 
Would  make   my  head    spin  round  and  round   and 
round    as    it    did    at    the    time.       S 
you'll    excuse  my  addressing  the    chair  Pri 
Jackman    I  think    the   period  of   the   lecture  has 
now    arrived    when  it    b,  that    I 
should  '                                             *  young  scholar." 
Upon  w  hich  Jemmj 

IS  and    tne'll 
miiko  n  'pring  inVo  'em."     So  I  \y  arms 


14 


MRS.    LIliltlFER'S  LODGINGS. 


to  him  8JB  I  had  opened  my  sorrowful  heart  when 
his  poor  young  mother  lay  a  dying",  and  he  had 
his  jump  and  we  had  a  good  long  hug  together, 
and  the  Major  prouder  than  any  peacock  says 
to  me  behind  his  hand,  "  You  need  not  let  him 
know  it  Madam"  (which  I  certainly  need  not 
tor  the  Major  was  quite  audible)  "but  he  is  a 
boy  !" 

In  this  way  Jemmy  grew  and  grew  and  went 
to  day-school  and  continued  under  the  Major 
too,  and  in  the  summer  we  were  as  hajipy  as  the 
days  were  long  and  in  winter  we  were  as  happy 
as  the  days  were  short  and  there  seemed  to  rest 
a  Blessing  on  the  Lodgings  for  they  as  good  as 
Let  themselves  and  would  have  done  it  if  there 
bad  been  twice  the  accommodation,  when  sore 
and  hard  against  my  will  I  one  day  says  to  the 
Major. 

"  Major  you  know  what  I  am  going  to  break 
to  you.     Our  boy  must  go  to  boarding-school." 

It  was  a  sad  sight  to  see  the  Major's  counte- 
nance drop,  and  I  pitied  the  good  soul  with  all 
my  heart. 

"Yes  Major"  I  says  "though  he  is  as  popular 
with  the  Lodgers  as  you  are  yourself  and  though 
he  is  to  you  and  me  what  only  you  and  me 
know,  still  it  is  in  the  course  of  things  and  Life 
is  made  of  partings,  and  we  must  part  with  our 
Pet." 

Bold  as  I  spoke,  I  saw  two  Majors  and  half  a 
dozen  fire-places,  and  when  the  poor  Major  put 
one  of  his  neat  bright-varnished  boots  upon  the 
fender  and  his  elbow  on  his  knee  and  his  head 
upon  his  hand  and  rocked  himself  a  little  to  and 
fro,  I  was  dreadfully  cut  up. 

"  But"  says  I  clearing  my  throat,  "  you  have 
so  well  prepared  him  Major — he  has  had  such  a 
Tutor  in  you — that  he  will  have  none  of  the  first 
drudgery  to  go  through.  And  he  is  so  clever 
besides  that  he'll  soon  make  his  way  to  the  front 
rank." 

"  He  is  a  boy"  says  the  Major— having  sniffed 
— "  that  has  not  his  like  on  the  face  of  the 
earth." 

"True  as  you  say  Major,  and  it  is  not  for  us 
merely  for  our  own  sake*s  to  do  anything  to  keep 
him  back  from  being  a  credit  and  an  ornament 
wherever  he  goes. and  perhaps  even  rising  to  be 
a  great  man,  is  it  Major?  He  will  have  all  my 
little  savings  when  my  work  is  done  (being  all 
the  world  to  me)  and  we  must  try  to  make  him  a 
wise  man  and  a  good  man,  mustn't   we  Major?" 

"  Madam"  says  the  Major  rising,  "  Jemmy 
Jackman  is  becoming  an  older  file  than  I  was 
aware  of,  and  you  put  him  to  shame.  You  are 
thoroughly  right  Madam.  You  are  simply  and 
undeniably  right. — And  if  you'll  excuse  me,  I'll 
take  a  walk." 


So  the  Major  being  gone  out  and  Jemmy  be- 
ing at  home,  I  got  the  child  into  my  little  room 
here  and  I  stood  him  by  my  chair  and  I  took 
his  mother's  own  curls  in  my  hand  and  I  spoke 
to  him  loving  and  serious.  And  when  I  had  re- 
minded the  darling  how  that  he  was  now  in  his 
tenth  year  and  when  I  had  said  to  him  about  his 
getting  on  in  life  pretty  much  what  I  had  said  to 
the  Major  I  broke  to  him  how  that  we  must  have 
this  same  parting,  and  there  I  was  forced  to  stop 
for  there  I  saw  of  a  sudden  the' well  remembered 
lip  with  its  tremble,  and  it  so  brought  back  that 
time  !  But  with  the  spirit  that  was  in  him  ho 
controlled  it  soon  and  he  says  gravely  nodding 
through  his  tears,  "  I  understand  Gran — I  know 
it  must  be,  Gran — go  on  Gran,  don't  be  afraid  of 
me."  And  when  I  had  said  all  that  ever  1  could 
think  of,  he  turned  his  bright  steady  face  to  mine 
and  he  says  just  a  little  broken  here  and  there 
"You  shall  see  Gran  that  I  can  be  a  man  and  that 
I  can  do  anything  that  is  grateful  and  loving  to 
you — and  if  I  do'nt  grow  up  to  be  what  you  would 
like  to  have  me — I  hope  it  will  be — because  I 
shall  die."  And  with  that  he  sat  down  by  me, 
and  I  went  on  to  tell  him  of  the  school  of  which 
I  had  excellent  recommendations  and  where  it 
was  and  how  many  scholars  and  what  games 
they  played  as  I  had  heard  and  what  length  of 
holidays,  to  all  of  which  he  listened  bright  and 
clear.  And  so  it  came  that  at  last  he  says  "And 
now  dear  Gran  let  me  kneel  down  here  where  I 
have  been  used  to  say  my  prayers  and  let  me  fold 
my  face  for  just  a  minute  in  your  gown  and  let 
me  ci-y,  for  you  have  been  more  than  father — 
more  than  mother — more  than  brothers  sisters 
friends — to  me  !"  And  so  he  did  cry  and  I  too 
and  we  were  both  much  the  better  for  it. 

From  that  time  forth  he  was  true  to  his  word 
and  ever  blithe  and  ready,  and  even  when  me 
and  the  Major  took  him  down  into  Lincolnshire 
he  was  far  the  gayest  of  the  party  though  for 
sure  and  certain  he  might  easily  have  been  that, 
but  he  really  was  and  put  life  into  us  only  when 
it  came  to  the  last  Good-by,  he  says  with  a  wist- 
ful look  "You  wouldn't  have  mc  not  really  sorry 
would  you  Gran?"  and  when  I  says  "  No  dear, 
Lord  forbid  !"  he  says  "  I  am  glad  of  that!"  and 
ran  in  out  of  sight. 

But  now  that  the  child  was  gone  out  of  the 
Lodgings  the  Major  fell  into  a  regularly  moping 
state.  It  was  taken  notice  of  by  all  the  Lodgers 
that  the  Major  moped.  He  hadn't  even  the 
same  air  of  being  rather  tall  that  he  used  to 
have,  and  if  he  varnished  his  boots  with  a  single 
gleam  of  interest  it  was  as  much  as  he  did. 

One  evening  the  Major  came  into  my  little 
room  to  take  a  cup  of  tea  and  a  morsel  of  buttered 
toast  and  to  read  Jemmy's  neweBt  letter  which 


Mft«.  LIltHIJ'KR'S  LODGING*. 


l:i. 


had  arrived  that  afternoon  (by  the  very  Bame 
postman  more  than  middle-aged  upon  the  Boat 
now),  and  the  letter  raising  him  up  a  little  I  says 
to  the  Major: 

"  Major  yon  mustn't  get  into  a    moping  way." 

The  Major  shook  his  head.  "  Jemmy  .lack- 
man  Madam,"  ho  says  with  a  deep  sigh,  "is  an 
older  lile  than  I  thought  him." 

"  Moping  is  -not  the  way  to  grow  younger, 
Major." 

"My  dear  Madam,"  says  the  Major,  Mi»  there 
any  way  of  growing  younger  7" 

Feeling  that  the  Major  was  getting  rather  the 
best  of  that  point,  I  made  a  diversion  to  an- 
other. 

"Thirteen  years!  Thir-teen  years!  Many- 
Lodgers  have  come  and  gone,  in  the  thirteen 
years  that  you  have  lived   in  the  parlours  Major." 

"Hah!"  says  the  Major  warming.  "Many, 
Madam,  many." 

"And  I  should  say  you  have  been  familiar  with 
them  all?" 

"  A9  a  rule  (with  its  exceptions  liko  all  rules) 
my  dear  Madam,"  says  the  Major,  "  they  have 
honoured  me  with  their  acquaintance,  and  not 
infrequently  with  their  confidence." 

Watching  the  Major  as  he  drooped  his  white 
head  and  stroked  his  black  moustachios  and 
moped  again,  a  thought  which  I  think  must  have 
been  going  about  looking  for  an  owner  some- 
where dropped  into  my  old  noddle  if  you  will 
excuse  tho  expression. 

"  The  walls  of  my  Lodgings"  I  says  in  a  casual 
way — for  my  dear  it  is  of  no  use  going  straight 
at  a  man  who  mopes — "might  have  something  to 
tell,  if  they  could  tell  it." 

The  Major  neither  moved  nor  said  anything 
but  I  saw  he  was  attending  with  his  shoulders 
my  dear — attending  with  his  shoulders  to  what 
I  said.  In  fact  I  saw  that  his  shoulders  were 
•truck  by  it. 

"Tho  dear  boy  was  always  fond  of  story-books'' 
I  went  on,  like  as  if  I  was  talking  to  myself.— 
"  I  am  sure  this  house — his  own  home — might 
write  a  story  or  two  for  his  reading  one  day  or 
another." 

The  Major's  shoulders  gave  a  dip  and  a  curve 
and  his  head  came  up  in  his  shirt  collar.  The 
Major's  head  came  up  in  his  shirt-collar  as  I 
hadn't  seen  it  come  up  since  Jemmy  went  to 
school. 

"  It  is  unquestionable  that  in  intervals  of 
«ribbage  and  a  friendly  rubber,  my  dear  M ad- 
am,  says  the  Major,  "  and  also  over  what  used 
so  be  called  in  my  young  times — in  the  salad 
days  of  Jemmy  Jackman — the  social  glass,  I' 
have  exchanged  many  a  reminiscence  with  your 
Lodgers." 


My  remark  was — I  confess  I  made  it  with  the 
deepest  and  artfullest  of  intentions — "I  wish  our 
dear  hoy  had  heard  them  I'' 

"Are  you  serious  Madam?"  asked  the  Major 
starting  and  turnfng  full  round. 

"  Why  not  Major?" 

"  Madam"  says  the  Major,  turning  up  one  of 
his  cuffs,  "they  shall  be  written  for  him." 

"Ah!  Now  you  speak"  I  says  giving  my 
bands  a  pleased  clap.  "  Now  you  are  in  a  way 
out  of  moping  Major." 

"  Between  this  and  my  holidays — I  mean  the 
dear  boy's" — savs  the  Major  turning  up  his  other 
cuff,  "a  good  deal  may  be  done  towards  it." 

"  Major  you  are  a  clever  man  and  you  have 
seen  much  and  not  a  doubt  of  it." 

"  I'll  begin,"  says  the  Major,  looking  as  tall  as 
ever  he  (lid,  "  to-morrow." 

My  dear  the  Major  was  another  man  in  threo 
days  and  he  was  himself  again  in  a  week  and  ho 
wrote  and  wrote  and  wrote  with  his  pen  scratch- 
ing like  rats  behind  the  wainscot,  and  whether 
he  had  many  grounds  to  go  upon  or  whether  he 
diil  at  all  romance  I  cannot  tell  you,  but  what  ho 
has  written  is  in  the  left-hand  glass  closet  of  tho 
little  book-case  close  behind  you,  and  if  you'll  put 
your  hand  in  you'll  find  it  come  out  heavy  in 
lumps  sewn  together  and  being  beautifully  plain 
and  unknown  Greek  anil  Hebrew  to  myself  and 
me  quite  wakeful,  I  shall  take  it  as  a  favour  if 
you'll  read  out  loud  and  read  on. 


II. 

HOW    THE    FIRST    FLOOR    WENT    TO    CROWLET 
CASTLE. 

I  have  comeback  to  London,  Major,  possess- 
ed by  a  family-story  that  I  have  picked  up  in  tho 
country.  While  I  was  out  of  town,  I  visited  tho 
ruins  of  the  great  old  Norman  castle  of  Sir  Mark 
Crowley,  the  last  baronet  of  his  name,  who  had 
been  dead  nearly  a  hundred  years.  I  stayed  in 
the  village  near  the  castle,  and  thence  I  bring 
back  some  of  the  particulars  of  the  tale  I  am  go- 
ing to  tell  you,  derived  from  old  inhabitants  who 
heard  them    from  their    fathers  ; — no  longer  ago. 

We  drove  from  our  little  sea-bathing  place,  in 
Sussex,  to  see  the  massive  ruins  of  Crowley  Cas- 
tle, which  is  the  show-excursion  of  Merton.  Wo 
had  to  alight  at  a  field  gate;  the  road  further  on 
being  ton  bad  lor  the  slightly-built  carriage,  or 
the  poor  tired  Merton  horse;  and  We  walked  for 
about  a  quarter  of  a  mile  through  uneven  ground, 
which  had  once  been  an  Italian  garden;  and 
then  we  came  to  a  bridge  over  a  dry  moat,  and 
went  ovi  r  the  groove  of  a  portcullis  that  had 
I  >sed  the  missive  entrnce,  into  an    empty 


MRS.   LIRRIPER'S  LODGINGS. 


16 

space  surrounded  by  thick  walls,  draperied  with 
ivy,  unroofed,  and  open  to  the  sky.  We  could 
pjdge  of  the  beautiful  tracery  that  had  been  in 
•  the  windows,  by  the  remains  of  the  stonework 
here  and  there  ;  and  an  old  man-*-"ever  so  old," 
he  called  himself  when  we  inquired  his  exact 
age — wh0  scrambled  and  stumbled  out  of  some 
lair  in  the  least  devastated  part  of  the  ruins  at 
our  approach,  and  who  established  himself  as  our 
guide,  showed  us  a  scrap  of  glass  yet  lingering  in 
whatwas  the  window  of  the  great  drawing-room 
not  above  seventy  years  ago.  After  he  had  done 
his  duty,  he  hobbled  with  us  to  the  neighbouring 
church,  where  the  knightly  Crowleys  lie  buried  : 
some  commemorated  by  ancient  brasses,  some  by 
altar-tombs,  some  byline  Latin  epitaphs,  bestow- 
ing upon  them  every  virtue  under  the  sun.  He 
had  to  take  the  church-key  back  to  the  adjoining 
parsonage  at  the  entrance  of  the  long  straggling 
street  which  forms  the  village  of  Crowley.  The 
castle  and  the  church  were  on  the  summit  of  a 
hill,  from  which  we  could  see  the  distant  line  of 
sea  beyond  the  misty  marshes.  The  village  fell 
away  from  the  church  and  parsonage,  down  .the 
hill.  The  aspect  of  the  place  was  little,  if  at 
all  changed  from  its  aspect  in  the  year  1772. 

But  I  must  begin  a  little  earlier.  Fi-om  one  of 
the  -Latin  epitaphs  I  learnt  that  Amelia  Lady 
Crowley  died  in  1756,  deeply  regretted  by  her 
loving  husband,  Sir  Mark.  He  never  married 
again,  though  his  wife  had  left  him  no  heir  to 
his  name  or  his  estate — only  a  little  tiny  girl — 
Theresa  Crowley.  This  child  would  inheric  her 
mother's  fortune,  and  all  that  Sir  Mark  was  free 
to  leave;  but  this  little  was  not  much;  the  castle 
and  all  the  lands  going  to  his  sister's  son,  Mar- 
maduke,  or  as  he  was  usually  called  Duke,  Brown- 
low.  Duke's  parents  were  dead,  and  his  uncle 
was  his  guardian,  and  his  guardian's  house  was 
his  home.  The  lad  was  some  seven  or  eight  years 
older  than  his  cousin ;  and  probably  Sir  Mark 
thought  it  not  unlikely  that  his  daughter  and  his 
heir  might  make  a  match.  Theresa's  mother  had 
had  some  foreign  blood  in  her,  and  had  been 
brought  up  in  France — not  so  far  away  but  that 
its  shores  might  be  seen  by  any  one  who  chose 
to  take  an  easy  day's  ride  from  Crowley  Castle 
for  the  purpose. 

Lady  Crowley  had  been  a  delicate  elegant 
creature,  but  no  great  beauty,  judging  from  all 
accounts ;  Sir  Mark's  family  were  famous  for 
their  good  looks;  Theresa,  an  unusually  lucky 
ghild,  inherited  the  outward  graces  of  both  her 
parents.  A  portrait  which  I  saw  of  her,  degrad- 
ed to  a  station  over  the  parlor  chimney-piece  in 
the  village  inn,  showed  me  black  hair,  soft  yet 
arch  grey  eyes  with  brows  and  lashes  of  the  same 
tint  of  her   hair,  a  full  pretty    passionate  mouth, 


and  a  round  slender  throat.  She  was  a  wilful 
creature,  and  her  father's  indulgence  made  her 
more  wayward.  She  had  a  nurse,  too,  a  French 
bonne,  whose  mother  .had  been  about  my  lady 
from  her  youth,  who  had  followed  my  lady  to 
England,  and  who  had  died  there.  Victorine 
had  been  in  attendance  on  the  young  Theresa 
from  her  earliest  infancy,  and  almost  took'  the 
place  of  a  parent  in  power  and  aifection — in  pow- 
er, as  to  ordering  and  arranging  almost  what  sho 
liked,  concerning  the  child's  management — in 
love,  because  they  speak  to  this  day  of  the  black 
year  when  virulent  small-pox  was  rife  in  Crow- 
ley, and  when,  Sir  Mark  being  far  away  on  some 
diplomatic  mission — in  Vienna,  I  fancy — Victo- 
rine shut  herself  up  with  Miss  Theresa,  when  the 
child  was  taken  ill  with  the  disease,  and  nursed 
her  night  and  day.  She  only  succumbed  to  the 
dreadful  illness  when  all  danger  to  the  child  was 
over.  Thoresa  came  out  of  it  with  unblemished 
beauty ;  Victorine  barely  escaped  with  life,  and 
was  disfigured  for  life. 

This  disfigurement  put  a  stop  to  much  unfound- 
ed scandal  which  had  been  afloat  respecting  the 
French  servant's  great  influence  over  Sir  Mark. 
He  was,  in  fact,  an  easy  and  indolent  man,  rarely 
excited  to  any  vehemence  of  emotion,  and  who 
felt  it  to  be  a  point  of  honour  to  carry  out  his 
dead  wife's  wish  that  Victorine  should  never 
leave  Theresa,  and  that  the  management  of  the 
child  should  be  confided  to  her.  Only  once  had 
their  been  a  struggle  for  power  between  Sir  Mark 
and  the  bonne,  and  then  she  had  won  the  victory. 
And  no  wonder,  if  the  old  butler's  account  were 
true ;  for  he  had  gone  into  the  room  unawares, 
and  had  found  Sir  Mark  and  Victorine  at  high 
words ;  and  he  said  that  Victorine  was  white  with 
rage,  that  her  eyes  were  blazing  with  passionate 
fire,  that  her  voice  was  low  and  her  words  were 
few,  but  that,  although  she  spoke  in  French,  and 
he  the  butler  only  knew  his  native  English,  he 
would  rather  have  been  sworn  at  by  a  drunken 
grenadier  with  a  sword  in  his  hand,  than  have 
those  words  of  Victorine's  addressed  to  him. 

Even  the  choice  of  Theresa's  masters  was  left 
to  Victorine.  A  little  reference  was  occasionally 
made  to  Madam  Hawtrey,  the  parson's  wife,  and 
a  distant  relation  of  Sir  Mark's,  but,  seeing  that, 
if  Victorine  so  chose  to  order  it,  Madam  Haw- 
trey's  own  httle  daughter  Bessy  would  have  been 
deprived  of  the  advantages  resulting  from  gratu- 
itous companionship  in  all  Theresa'9  lessons,  she 
was  careful  how  she  opposed  or  nade  an  enemy 
of  Mademoiselle  Victorine.  Bessy  was  a  gentle 
quiet  child,  and  grew  up  to  be  a  sensible  sweet- 
tempered  girl,  with  a  very  fair  share  of  English 
beauty ;  fresh  complexion,  brown-eyed,  round- 
faced,  witti  a  stiff'  though  well-made  figure,  as  dif- 
ferent   as    possible    from    Theresa's    alight    lithe 


MRS.  LIRRIPER'S  LODGINGS. 


17 


graceful  foim.  Duke  was  a  young  man  to  those 
two  maidens,  whilo  they  to  him  were  little  more 
than  children.  Of  course  he  admired  his  cousin 
Theresa  the  most — who  would  not? — hut  he  was 
establishing  his  first  principles  of  morality  for 
himself,  and  her  conduct  towards  Bessy  sometimes 
jarred  against  his  ideas  of  right.  One  day,  after 
she  had  been  tyrannising  over  the  self-contained 
and  patient  Bessy  so  as  to  make  the  latter  cry — and 
both  the  amount  of  the  tyranny  and  the  crying 
were  unusual  circumstances,  for  Theresa  was  of 
a  generous  nature  when  not  put  out  of  the  way — 
Duke  spoke  to  his  cousin: 

"Theresa!  you  had  no  right  to  blame  Bessy 
as  you  did.  It  was  as  much  your  fault  as  hers. 
You  were  as  much  bound  to  remember  Mr.  Daw- 
son's directions  about  the  sums  you  were  to  do  for 
him,  as  she  was." 

The  girl  opened  her  great  grey  eyes  with  sur- 
prise.    She  to  blame ! 

"  What  does  Bessy  come  to  the  castle  for,  I 
wonder?  They  pay  nothing — we  pay  all.  The 
least  she  can  do  is  to  remember  for  me  what  we 
are  told.  I  shan't  trouble  myself  with  attending 
to  Mr.  Dawson's  directions  ;  and  if  Bessy  does 
not  like  to  do 'so,  she  can  stay  away.  She  already 
knows  enough  to  earn  her- bread  as  a  maid: 
which  I  suppose  is  what  she'll  have  to  come 
to  " 

The  moment  Theresa  had  said  this,  6he  could 
have  bitten  her  tongue  out  for  the  meanness  and 
rancour  of  the  speech.  She  saw  pain  and  disap- 
pointment clearly  expressed  on  Duke's  face  ;  and 
in  another  moment  her  impulses  would  have 
carried  her  to  the  opposite  extreme,  and  she 
would  have  spoken  out  her  self-reproach.  But 
Duke  thought  it  his  duty  to  remonstrate  with  her, 
ami  to  read  her  a  homily,  which,  however  true 
and  just,  weakened  the  effect  of  the  look  of  dis- 
tress on  his  face.  Her  wits  were  called  into  play 
to  refute  his  arguments;  her  head  rather  than 
her  heart  took  the  prominent  part  in  the  contro- 
versy; and  it  ended  unsatisfactorily  to  both  ;  In-, 
going  away  with  dismal  though  unspoken  prog- 
nostics touching  what  she  would  become  as  a 
woman  if  she  were  so  supercilious  and  unfeeling 
as  a  girl;  she,  the  moment  his  back  was  turned, 
throwing  herself  on  the  floor  and  sobbing  as  if  her 
heart  would  break.  Victorine  heard  her  darling's 
passionate  sobs, and  came  in. 

"  What  hast  thou,  my  angel?  Who  has  been 
vexing  thee — tell  me,  my  cherished?" 

She  tried  to  raise  the  girl,  but  Theresa  would 
not  be  raised;  neither  would  sin'  speak  till  she 
chose,  in  spite  of  Victorine's  entreaties.  When 
she  chose,  she  lilted  herself  tip,  still  sitting  on  the 
floor,  and  putting  her  tangled  hair  nil  her  flushed 
tear-stained  face,  Baid  : 


"  Never  mind,  it  was  only  something  Duke 
said;  I  don't  care  for  it  now."  And  refusing 
Victorine's  aid,  she  got  up,  and  stood  thoughtfully 
looking  out  of  the  window. 

"  That  Duke  !"  exclaimed  Victorine.  "  What 
business  has  that  Mr.  Duke  to  go  vex  my  dar- 
ling ?  He  is  not  your  husband  yet,  that  he  should 
scold  you,  or  that  you  should  mind  what  he 
says." 

Theresa  listened  and  gained  a  new  idea  ;  but 
she  gave  no  outward  sign  of  attention,  or  of  her 
now  hearing  for  the  first  time  how  that  she  was 
supposed  to  be  intended  for  her  cousin's  wife. — 
She  made  no  reply  to  Victorine  s  caresses  and 
speeches. ;  one  might  almost  say  she  shook  her 
off.  As  soon  as  she  was  left  to  herself,  she  took 
her  hat,  and  going  out  alone,  as  she  was  wont, 
in  the  pleasure-grounds,  she  went  down  the  ter- 
race steps,  crossed  the  bowling  green,  and  open- 
ed a  little  wicket-gate  which  led  into  the  garden 
of  the  parsonage  There,  were  Bessy  and  her 
mother,  gathering  fruit.  It  was  Bessy  whom 
Theresa  sought ;  for  there  was  something  in  Mad- 
am Hawtrey'e  silky  manner  that  was  always 
rather  repugnant  to  her.  However  she  was  not 
going  to  shrink  from  her  resolution  because  Mad- 
am Hawtrey  was  there.  So  she  went  up  to  the 
startled  Bessy,  and  said  to  her,  as  if  she  was  re- 
citing a  prepared  speech  :  "  Bessy,  I  behaved 
very  crossly  to  you ;  I  had  no  business  to  have 
spoken  to  you  as  I  did." — "Will  you  forgive  me?" 
was  the  pie-determined  end  of  this  confession  ; 
but  somehow,  when  it  came  to  that,  she  could  not 
say  it  with  Madam  Hawtrey  standing  by,  ready 
to  smile  and  to  courtesy  as  soon  as  she  could 
catch  Theresa's  eye.  There  was  no  need  to  ask 
forgiveness  though;  for  Bessy  had  put  down  her 
half-filled  basket,  and  came  softly  up  to  Theresa, 
stealing  her  brown  soil-stained  little  hand  into  the 
young  lady's  soft,  white  one,  and  looking  up  at 
her  with  loving,  brown  eyes. 

"  I  am  so  sorry,  but  I  think  it  was  the  sums  on 
page  108.  I  have  been  looking  and  looking,  and 
I  am  almost  sure." 

Her  exculpatory  tone  caught  her  mother's  ear, 
although  her  words  did  not. 

"  I  am  sure,  Miss  Theresa,  Bessy  is  so  grateful 
for  the  privileges  of  learning  with  you  !  It  is 
such  an  advantage  to  her  !  I  often  tell  her,  'Take 
pattern  by  Miss  Theresa,  and  do  as  she  dot 
try  and  speak  as  she  does,  Mid  there'll  not  bo  a 
■.  to    compare  with 

you.'     Don't  I,  Bessy  ?"  •> 

Theresa   shrugged   her  shoulders — a    trick  she 
hnd  caught  from  Victorim — ami,  turning  to  Bessy 
asked    her  what    she  was  going  l<>   do  with  those 
he  was  gathering  ?      And  as  Theresa 


18 


MRS.  LIRRIPER'S  LODGINGS. 


spoke,  she  lazily  picked  the  ripest  out  of  the 
bas',    t,  and  ate  them. 

"  They  are  for  a  pudding,"  said  Bessy.  "As 
soon  as  we  have  gathered  enough,  I  am  going  in 
to  make  it." 

"  I'll  come  and  help  you !"  said  Theresa  ea- 
gerly. "  I  should  so  like  to  make  a  pudding. 
Our  Monsieur  Antoine  never  makes  gooseberry 
puddings." 

Duke  came  past  the  parsonage  an  hour  or  so 
afterwards :  and,  looking  in  by  chance  through 
the  open  casement  windows  of  the  kitchen,  saw 
Theresa  pinned  up  in  a  bib  and  apron,  her  arms 
all  over  flour,  flourishing  a  rolling-pin,  and  laugh- 
ing and  chattering  with  Bessy  similarly  attired. 
Duke  had  spent  his  morning  ostensibly  in  fishing, 
but  in  reality  in  weighing  in  his  own  mind  what 
he  could  say  or  do  to  soften  the  obdurate  heart 
of  his  cousin.  And  here  it  was,  all  inexplicably 
right,  as  if  by  some  enchanter's  wand! 

The  only  conclusion  Duke  could  come  to  was 
the  same  that  many  a  wise  (and  foolish)  man  had 
come  to  before  his  day  : 

"  Well  !  Women  are  past  my  comprehension, 
that's  all !" 

When  all  this  took  place,  Theresa  was  about 
fifteen;  Bessy  was  perhaps  six  months  older; 
Duke  was  just  leaving  Oxford.  His  uncle,  Sir 
Mark,  was  excessively  fond  of  hirri ;  yes!  and 
proud,  too,  for  he  had  distinguished  himself  at 
college,  and  every  one  spoke  well  of  him.  And 
he,  for  his  part,  loved  Sir  Mark,  and,  unspoiled 
by  the  fame  and  reputation  he  had  gained  at 
Christ  Church,  paid  respectful  deference  to  Sir 
Mark's  opinions. 

As  Theresa  grew  older,  her  father  supposed 
that  he  played  his  cards  well  in  singing  Duke's 
praises  on  every  possible  occasion.  She  tossed 
her  head,  and  said  nothing.  Thanks  to  Victo- 
rine's  revelations,  she  understood  the  tendency 
of  her  father's  speeches.  She  intended  to  make 
her  own  choice  of  a  husband  when  the  time 
came  ;  and  it  might  be  Duke,  or  it  might  be  some 
one  else.  When  Duke  did  not  lecture  or  prose, 
but  was  sitting  his  horse  so  splendidly  at  the  meet, 
before  the  huntsman  gave  the  blast,  "  Found  ;" 
when  Duke  was  holding  his  own  discourse  with 
other  men ;  when  Duke  gave  her  a  short  sharp 
word  of  command  on  any  occasion  ;  then  she  de- 
cided that  she  would  marry  him,  and  no  one  else. 
But  when  he  found  fault,  or  stumbled  about  awk- 
wardly in  a  minuet,  or  talked  moralities  against 
duelling,  then  jjj»e  was  sure  that  Duke  should 
never  become  her  husband.  .  She  wondered  if  he 
knew  about  it ;  if  any  one  had  told  him,  as  Vic- 
torine  had  told  her;  if  her  father  had  revealed 
his  thoughts  and  wishes  to  his  nephew,  as  plainly 
as  he  had  done  to  his  daughter?     This  last  query 


made  her  cheeks  burn;  and,  on  the  days  when 
the  suspicion  had  been  brought  by  chance  promi- 
nently before  her  mind,  she  was  especially  rude 
and  disagreeable  to  Duke. 

He  was  to  go  abroad  on  the  grand  tour  of 
Europe,  to  which  young  men  of  fortune  usually 
devoted  three  years.  He  was  to  have  a  tutor, 
because  all  young  men  of  his  rank  had  tutors  ; 
else  he  was  quite  wise  enough,  and  steady  enough, 
to  have  done-  without  one,  and  probably  knew  a 
good  deal  more  about  what  was  best  to  be  ob- 
served in  the  countries  they  were  going  to  visit, 
than  Mr.  Roberts,  his  appointed  bear-leader.  He 
was  to  come  back  full  of  historical  and  political 
knowledge,  speaking  French  and  Italian  like  a 
native,  and  having  a  smattering  of  barbarous 
German,  and  he  was  to  enter  the  House  as  a 
county  member,  if  possible —  as  a  borough  mem- 
ber at  the  worst ;  and  was  to  make  a  great  suc- 
cess; and  then,  as  every  one  understood,  he  was 
to  marry  his  cousin  Theresa. 

He  spoke  to  her  father  about  it,  before  starting 
on  his  travels.  It  was  after  dinner  in  Crowley 
Castle.  Sir  Mark  and  Duke  sat  alone,  each  pen- 
sive at  the  thought  of  the  coming  parting. 

"  Theresa  is  but  young,"  sa;d  Duke,  breaking 
into  speech  after  a  long  silence,  "but  if  you  have 
no  objection,  uncle,  I  should  like  to  speak  to 
her  before  I  leave  England,  about  my — my 
hopes." 

Sir  Mark  played  with  his  glass,  poured  out 
some  more  wine,  drank  it  off  at  a  draught,  and 
'.hen  replied  :' 

"  No,  Duke,  no.  Leave  her  in  peace  with  me. 
I  have  looked  forward  to  having  her  for  my  com- 
panion through  these  three  years ;  they'll  soon 
pass  away"  (to  age,  but  not  to  youth),  "and  I 
should  like  to  have  her  undivided  heart  till  you 
come  back.  No,  Duke  !  Three  years  will  soon 
pass  away,  and  then  we'll  have  a  royal  wed- 
ding." 

Duke  sighed,  but  said  no  more.  The  next  day 
was  the  last.  He  wanted  Theresa  to  go  withhim 
to  take  leave  of  the  Hawtrey's  at  the  parsonage, 
and  of  the  villagers ;  but  she  was  wilful,  and 
would  not.  He  remembered,  years  afterwards, 
how  Bessy's  gentle,  peaceful  manner  had  struck 
him  as  contrasted  with  Theresa's,  on  that  last 
day.  Both  girls  regretted  his  departure.  He 
had  been  so  uniformly  gentle  and  thoughtful  in 
his  behaviour  to  Bessy,  that,  without  any  idea  of 
love* she  felt  him  to  be  her  pattern  of  noble,  chiv- 
alrous manhood;  the  only  person,  except  her 
father,  who  was  steadily  kind  to  her.  She  ad- 
mired hi3  sentiments,  she  esteemed  his  princi- 
ples, she  considered  his  long  evolvement  of  his 
ideas  as  the  truest  eloquence.  He  had  lent  her 
books,  ho    bad  directed   her  studies ;  all  the  ad- 


MRS.   LIRRIPERS   LODGINGS. 


lit 


vice  ami  information  which  Theresa  had  reject- 
ed had  fallen  to  Bessy's  lot,  and  she  hail  received 
it  thankfully. 

Theresa  burst  into  a  passion  of  tears  as  soon 
as  Duke  and  his  suite  wore  out  of  sight.  She 
had  refused  the  farewell  kiss  her  father  had  told 
her  to  give  him,  but  had  waved  her  white  hand- 
kerchief out  of  the  great  drawing-room  window 
(that  very  window  in  which  the  old  guide  showed 
me  the  small  piece  of  glass  still  lingering).  But 
Duke  had  ridden  away  with  slack  rein  and  down- 
cast head,  without  looking  hack. 

His  absence  was  a  great  blank  in  Sir  Mark's 
life.  He  had  never  Bbifght  London  mm'li  as  a 
place  of  residence  ;  in  former  days  he  had  been 
suspected  of  favouring  the  Stuarts  ;  but  nothing 
could  be  proved  against  him,  and  he  had  sub- 
sided into  a  very  tolerably  faithful  subject  of 
King  George  the  Third.  Still,  a  cold  shoulder 
having  been  turned  to  him  by  the  court  party 
at  one  time,  he  had  become  prepossessed  against 
the  English  capital.  On  the  contrary,  his  wife's 
predilections  and  his  own  tendencies  had  always 
made  Paris  a  very  agreeable  place  of  residence 
to  him.  To  Paris  he  at  length  resorted,  again', 
when  the  blank  in  his  life  oppressed  him  ;  and 
from  Paris,  about  two  years  after  Duke's  depar- 
ture, he  returned  after  a  short  absence  from 
home,  und  suddenly  announced  to  his  daugther 
and  the  household  that  he  had  taken  an  apart- 
ment in  the  Rue  Louis  le  Grand  for  the  coming 
winter,  to  which  there  was  to  be  an  immediate  re- 
moval of  his  daughter,  Victorine,  and  certain 
other  personal  attendants  and  servants. 

Nothing  could  exceed  Theresa's  mad  joy  at 
this  unexpected  news.  She  sprang  upon'  her 
father's  neck  and  kissed  him  till  she  was  tired 
— whatever  he  was.  She  ran  to  Victorine,  and 
told  her  to  guess  what  "  heavenly  bliss"  was  go- 
ing to  befal  them,  dancing  round  the  middle- 
aged  woman  until  she,  in  her  spoilt  impatience, 
was  becoming  angry,  when,  kissing  her,  she  told 
her,  and  ran  off  to  the  Parsonage,  and  thence  to 
the  church,  bursting  in  upon  mottling  prayers— 
for  it  was  All  Saints'  Day,  although  she  bad  for- 
gotten it — and  filliping  a  scrap  of  paper  on  which 
sue  bad  hastily  written,  "  We  are  going  to  Paris 
for  the  winter — allot' us,"  rolled  into  a  ball,  from 
the  caetla  pew  to  that  of  the  parson.  She  saw 
redden,  as  she  caught  it,  put  it  into  her 
pocket  unread,  and, after  on  apologetic  glance  at 
the  curtained  seat  in  which  Theresa  was,  go  on 
wit])  her  meek  responses.  Theresa  went  out  by 
the  private  door  in  a  momentary  tit  of  passion. 
"Stupid,  cold-blooded  creature!"  she 
herself.  But  that  afternoon.  Bessy  came  to  the 
CastU,  so  sorry — and  so  losing  her  own  sorrow  in 
sympathy  with  her    friend's  gladness,  that  There- 


sa took  her  into  favour  again.  .  The  girls  parted 
with  promises  of  correspondence,  and  with  some 
rfegrei  :  the  greatest  on  Bessy's  side.  Some 
grand  promises  of  Paris  fashion,  and  presents  of 
dress,  Theresa  made  in  her  patronising  way  ;  but 
Bessy  did  not  seem  to  care  much  for  them — 
which  was  fortunate,  for  they  were  never  ful- 
filled. 

Sir  Mark  had  an  idea  in  his  head  of  perfect- 
ing Theresa's  accomplishments  and  manners  by 
Parisian  masters  and  Parisian  society.  English 
residents  iti  Venice,  Florence,  Rome,  wrote  to 
their  friends  at  home  about  Duke.  They  spoke 
of  him  as  of  what  we  should,  at  the  present  day, 
call  a  "rising  young  man."  His  praises  ran  so 
high,  that  Sir  Mark  began  to  fear  lest  his  hand- 
some nephew,  feted  by  princes,  courted  by  am- 
bassadors, made  love  to  by  lovely  Italian  ladies, 
might  find  Theresa  too  country-bred  for  bis 
taste. 

Thus  had  come  about,  the  engnging  of  the 
splendid  apartment  in  the  Rue  Louis  le  Grand. 
The  street  itself  is  narrow,  and  now-a-davs  we 
are  apt  to  think  the  situation  close  ;  but  in  those 
days  it  was  the  height  of  fashion  ;  for,  the  great 
arbiter  of  fashion,  the  Due  de  Richelieu,  lived 
there,  and,  to  inhabit  an,  apartment  in  that  street, 
was  in  itself  a  mark  of  bon  ton.  Victorine  seem- 
ed almost  crazy  with  delight  when  they  took  pos- 
session of  their  new  abode.  "  This  dear  Paris  ! 
This  lovely  I1' ranee  !  And  now  I  see  my  voting 
lady,  my  darling,  my  angel,  in  a  room  suited  to 
her  beauty  and  her  rank  :  such  as  my  lady  her 
mother  would  have  planned  for  her,  if  she  had 
lived.  Any  allusion  to  her  dead  mother  always 
touched  Theresa  to  the  quick.  She  was  in  her 
bed,  under  the  blue  silk  curtains  of  an  alcove, 
when  Victorine  said  this, — being  too  much  fa- 
tigued after  her  journey  to  respond  to  Victorine's 
rhapsodies;  but  now  she  put  out  her  little  hand 
and  gave  Victorine's  a  pressure  of  gratitude  anil 
pleasure.  Next  day  she  wandered  about  the 
rooms  and  admired  their  splendour  almost  to  Vic- 
torine's content.  Her  father,  Sir  Mark,  found  a 
handsome  carriage  and  horses  for  bis  darling's 
use;  and  also  found  that  not  less  necessary  arti- 
eh — a  married  lady  of  rank  who  would  take  his 
^irl  under  her  wing.  When  all  these  prelimina. 
rv  at  raiiL  einents  wete  made,  who  so  wildly  happy 
as  Theresa  !  Her  carriage  was  of  the  newest 
fashion,  tit  to  vie  with  any  on  the  Cours  de  la 
Heine,  the  then  fashionable  drive.  The  box  at 
the  Grand  Opera,  and  at  the  Franc  ais,  which  she 
■■•■  ith  Madame  la  Duchl  886  de  (i.,  was  the 
centre  of  observation  ;  Victorine  was  in  her  best 
humour,  Theresa's  credit  at  her  dressmaker's  was 
unlimited,  her  indulgent  fathet  was  charmed  with 
all  she  did  and  said.     She  had  musters,  it  is  truu  ; 


91 


MRS.   LIRRIPER'S  LODGINGS. 


but,  to  a  rich  and. beautiful  young  lady,  masters 
were  wonderfully  complaisant,  and  with  them  as 
with  all  the  world,  she  did  what  she  pleased.  Of 
Parisian  society,  she  had  enough,  and  more  than 
enough.  The  duchess  went  everywhere,  and 
Theresa  went  too.  So  did  a  certain  Count  de  la 
Grange:  some  relation  or  connexion  of  the  duch- 
ess :  handsome, .  with  a  south  of  France  hand- 
someness :  with  delicate  features,  marred  by  an 
over-softness  of  expression,  from  which  (so  men 
said)  the  tiger  was  occasionally  seen  to  peep 
forth.  But,  for  elegance  of  dress  and  demean- 
our, he  had  not  his  fellow  in  Paris — which  of 
course  meant,  not  in  the  world. 

Sir  Mark  heard  rumours  of  this  man's  conduct, 
which  were  not  pleasing  to  him  ;  but  when  he 
accompanied  his  daughter  into  society,  the  count 
was  only  as  deferential  as  it  became  a  gentleman 
to  be  to  so'much  beauty  and  grace.  When  Ther- 
esa was  taken  out  by  the  duchess  to  the  opera, 
to  balls,  to  petits  soupers,  without  her  father, 
then  the  count  was  more  than  deferential ;  he  was 
adoring.  It  was  a  little  intoxicating  for  a  girl 
brought  up  in  the  solitude  of  an  English  village, 
to  have  so  many  worshippers  at.  her  feet  all  at 
once,  in  the  great  city  ;  and  the  inbred  coquetry 
of  her  nature  came  out,  adding  to  her  outward 
grace,  if  taking  away  from  the  purity  and  dignity 
of  her  character.  It  was  Victorine's  delight  to 
send  her  darling  out  arrayed  for  conquest ;  her 
hair  delicately  powdered,  and  scented  with  ma- 
rechale  ;  her  little  "  mouches"  put  on  with  skill ; 
the  tiny  half-moon  patch,  to  lengthen  the  already 
almond-shaped  eye;  the  minute  star  to  give  the 
effect  of  a  dimple  at  the  corner  of  her  scarlet 
lips  ;  the  silver  gauze  looped  up  over  the  petti- 
coat of  blue  brocade,  distended  over  a.  hoop, 
much  as  gowns  are  worn  in  our  days ;  the  coral 
ornaments  of  her  silver  dress,  matching  with  the 
tint  of  the  high  heels  torher  shoes.  And,  at  night, 
Victorine  was  never  tired  of  listening  and  ques- 
tioning ;  of  triumphing  in  Theresa's  triumphs ; 
of  invariably  reminding  her  that  she  was  bound 
to  marry  her  absent  cousin,  and  return  to  the 
half-feudal  estate  of  the  old  castle  in  Sussex. 

Still,  even  now,  if  Duke  had  returned  from 
Italy,  all  might  have  gone  well ;  but  when  Sir 
Mark,  alarmed  by  the  various  proposals  he  re- 
ceived for  Theresa's  hand  from  needy  French 
noblemen,  and  by  the  admiration  she  was  exci- 
ting everywhere,  wrote  to  Duke,  and  urged  him 
to  join  them  in  Paris  on  his  return  from  his  trav- 
els, Duke  answered  that  three  months  were  yet 
unexpired  of  the  lime  alotted  for  the  grand  tour  ; 
and  that  he  was  anxious  to  avail  himself  of  that 
interval  to  see  something  of  Spain.  Sir  Mark 
read  this  letter  aloud  to  Theresa,  with  many  ex- 
pressions   of   ahribyattce    as    he    read.      Theresa 


merely  said,  "  Of  course,  Duke  does  what  he 
likes,"  and  turned  away  to  see  some  new  lace 
brought  for  inspection.  She  heard  her  father 
sigh  over  a  reperusal  of  Duke's  letter,  and  she  set 
her  teeth  in  the  anger  she  would  not  show  in  acts 
or  words.  That  day  the  Count  de  Grange  met 
with  gentler  treatment  from  her  than  he  had  done 
for  many  days— than  he  had  done  since  her  fa- 
ther's letter  to  Duke  had  been  sent  off  to  Genoa. 
As  ill  fortune  would  have  it,  Sir  Mark  had  oc- 
casion to  return  to  England  at  this  time,  and'he, 
guileless  himself,  consigned  Theresa  and  hermaid 
Victorine,  and  her  man  Felix  to  the  care  of  the 
duchess  for  three  weeks.  They  were  to  reside  at 
the  Hotel  de  G.  during  this  time.  The  duchess 
welcomed  them  in  her  most  caressing  manner, 
and  showed  Theresa  the  suite  of  rooms,  with  the 
little  private  staircase,  appropriated  to  her  use. 

The  Count  de  Grange  was  an  habitual  visitor 
at  the  house  of  his  cousin  the  duchess,  who  was 
a  gay  Parisian,  absorbed  in  her  life  of  giddy  dis- 
sipation. The  count  found  means  of  influencing 
Victorine  in  his  favor ;  net  by  money ;  so  coarse 
a  bribe  would  not  have  had  no  power  over  her; 
but  by  many  presents,  accompanied  with  senti- 
mental letters,  breathing  devotion  to  her  charge, 
and  extremest  appreciation  of  the  faithful  friend 
whom  Theresa  looked  upon  as  a  mother,  and 
whom  for  this  reason  he,  the  count,  revered  and 
loved.  Intermixed,  were  wily  allusions  to  his 
great  possesions  in  Provence,  and  to  his  ancient 
lineage  : — the  one  mortgaged,  the  other  dis- 
graced. Victorine,  whose  right  hand  had  forgot- 
ten its  cunning  in  the  length  of  her  dreary  vege- 
tation at  Crowjey  Castle,  was  deceived,  and  be- 
came a  vehement  advocate  of  the  dissolute  Adonis 
of  the  Paris  saloons,  in  his  suit  to  her  darling. — 
When  Sir  Mark  came  back,  he  was  dismayed  and 
shocked  beyond  measure  by  finding  the  count  and 
Theresa  at  his  feet,  entreating  him  to  forgive 
their  stolen  marriage — a  marriage  which,  though 
incomplete  as  to  its  legal  forms,  was  yet  too  com- 
plete to  be  otherwise  than  sanctioned  by  Theresa's 
nearest  friends.  The  duchess  accused  her  cousin 
of  perfidy  and  treason.  Sir  Mark  said  nothing. 
But  his  health  failed  from  that  time,  and  he  sank 
into  an  old  querulous  grey-haired  man. 

There  was  some  ado,  I  know  not  what,  be- 
tween Sir  Mark  and  the  count  regarding  the  con- 
trol and  disposition  of  the  fortune  Theresa  inher- 
ited from  her  mother.  The  count  gained  the 
victory,  owing  to  the  different  nature  of  the 
French  laws  from  the  English  ;  and  this  made  Sir 
Mark  abjure  the  country  and  the  city  he  had 
loved  so  long.  Henceforward,  he  swore,  his  foot 
should  never  touch, French  soil;  if  Theresa  liked 
to  come  and  see  him  at  Crowley  Castle,  she 
should  be  as  welcome  as  a  daughter  of  the  house 


MRS.  LIRRIPER'S  LODGINGS. 


21 


ought  to  be,  and  ever  should  be  ;  but  her  hus- 
band should  never  enter  the  gates  of  the  house  in 
Sir  Mark's  lifetime. 

For  some  months  ho  was  out  of  humour  with 
Duke,  because  of  his  tardy  return  from  bis  tour 
and  his  delay  in  joining  them  in  Talis:  through 
which,  so  Sir  Mark  fancied,  Theresa's  marriage 
had  been  brought  about.  But — when  Duke  came 
home,  depressed.in  spirits  and  submissive  to  his 
uncle,  even  under  unjust  blame — Sir  Mark  re- 
stored him  to  favour  in  the  course  ot  a  summer's 
day,  and  henceforth  added  another  injury  to  the 
debtor  sido  of  the  count's  reckoning. 

Duke  never  told  his  uncle  of  the  woful  ill-re- 
port he  had  heard  of  the  count  in  Talis,  \\  here 
in'  had  found  all  the  better  part  of  the  French 
nobility  pitying  the  lovely  English  heiress  who 
had  been  entrapped  into  a  marriage  with  one  of 
the  most  disreputable  of  their  order,  a  gambler 
and  a  reprobate.  He  could  not  leave  Talis  with- 
out seeing  Theresa,  whom  he  believed  to  bo  as 
yet  unacquainted  with  his  arrival  in  the  city,  so 
he  went  to  call  upon  her  one  evening.  She  was 
sitting  alone,  splendidly  dressed,  ravishingly  beau- 
tiful ;  she  made  a  step  forward  to  meet  him, 
hardly  heeding  the  announcement  of  his  name ; 
for  she  had  recognized  a  man's  tread,  and  fancied 
it  was  her  husband,  coming  to  accompany  her  to 
some  grand  reception.  Duke  saw  the  quick 
change  from  hope  to  disappointment  on  her  mo- 
bile face,  and  she  spoke  out  at  once  her  reason. 
"  Adolphe  promised  to  come  and  fetch  me  ;  the 
princess  receives  to-night.  I  hardly  expected  a 
visit  from  you,  cousin  Duke,"  recovering  herself 
into  a  pretty  proud  reservo.  "  It  is  a  fortnight, 
I  think,  since  I  heard  you  were  in  Talis.  I  had 
given  up  all  expectation  of  the  honour  of  a  visit 
from  you  !" 

Duke  felt  that,  as  she  had  beard  of  his  being 
there,  it  would  be  awkward  to  make  excuses 
which  both  she  and  ho  must  know  to  lie  false,  or 
explanations  the  very  truth  of  which  would  lie 
offensive  to  the  loving,  trusting,  deceived  wife. 
So  he  tuiiied  the  conversation  (■>  big  travels,  his 
heart  aching  for  her  all  the  time,  as  he  noticed 
her  wandering  attention  when  she  heard  am 
passing  sound.  Ten,  eleven,  twelve  o'clock;  he 
would  not  leave  her.  II.-  thought  hit  presence 
irt  and  a  pleasure  to  her.  lint  win  n 
oi.e  o  dock  stunk,  she  said  some  unexpected 
■  o  detained  her  husband,  ami 
she  was  glad  of  it,  ns  she  had  all  along  felt  Ion 
much  tired  to  go  out:  and  besides,  the  happj 
oousequence  of  hi  i  -ion  had  been 

that  long  talk  with  Duke. 

He  did  net   ge  i  hi  i  again  aft<  r  ii;:-  police  dis- 

.    nor    did    he    see   her    husband    at    all  — 

Whether  through  ill  chs  fully  disguis- 


ed purpose,  it  did  so  happen  that  he  called  sev- 
eral times,  he  wrote  several  notes  requesting  an 
appointment  when  he  might  come  with  the  eer- 
tainty  of  finding  the  count  and  countess  at  home, 
in  order  to  wish  them  farewell  before  setting  out 
for  England.  All  in  vain.  But  he  said  nothing 
to  Sir  Mark  of  all  this.  He  only  tried  to  fill  up 
the  blank  in  the  old  man's  life.  Ho  went  be- 
tween Sir  Mark  and  trie  tenants,  to  whom  he  was 
unwilling  to  show  himself  unaccompanied  by  the 
beautiful  daughter,  who  had  so  often  been  his 
companion  in  his  walks  and  rides,  before  that  ill- 
omened  winter  in  Taris.  He  was  thankful  to 
have  the  power  of  returning  the  long  kin.lnosshis 
uncle  had  shown  him  in  childhood ;  thankful  to 
be  of  use  to  him  in  his  desertion  ;  thankful  to 
atone  in  some  measure  for  his  neglect  of  his 
uncle's  wish  that  he  should  have  mado  a  hasty 
return  to  Taris. 

But  it  was  a  little  dull  after  the  long  excite- 
ment of  travel,  after  associating  witli  all  that  was 
most  cultivated  and  seeing  all  that  was  most  fa- 
mous in  Europe,  to  be  shut  up  in  that  vast  mag- 
nificent old  castle,  with  Sir  Murk  for  a  perpetual 
companion — Sir  Mark,  and  no  other.  The  par- 
sonage was  near  at  hand,  and  occasionally  Mr. 
Hawtrey  came  in  to  visit  his  parishioner  in  his 
trouble.  But  Sir  Mark  kept  the  clergyman  at 
bay  ;  he  knew  that  his  brother  in  age,  his  brother 
in  circumstances,  (for  had  not  Mr.  Hawtrey  an 
only  child  and  she  a  daughter?)  was  sympathiz- 
ing with  him  in  sorrow,  and  he  was  too  proud  to 
bear  it;  indeed,  sometimes  he  was  so  rude  to  his 
old  neighbour,  that  Duke  would  go  next  morning 
to  the  Parsonage,  to  soothe  the  smart. 

And  so — and  so — gradually,  imperceptibly,  at 
last  his  heart  was  drawn  to  Bessy.  Her  mother 
angled,  and  angled  skilfully;  at  first  scarcely 
daring  to  hope  ;  then  remembering  her  own  de- 
scent, from  the  same  stock  as  Duke,  she  drew 
herself  up,  and  set  to  work  with  fresh  skill  and 
vigour.  To  he  sure  it  WSS  a  dangerous  garni'  for 
a,  mother  to  play;  for  her  daughter's  happiness 
was  staked  on  her  success.  How  could  simple, 
country-bred   Bessy  help  being  attracted  to  the 

hand-. .me  man,  travelled  and  accomplish- 

e.l.  •; I  and   gentle,  uloin  she  »aw  every  day, 

and  who  treated  her  with  the  kind  familiarity  of 

a  brother;   while   he  was  not  a   brother,  but    in 

some  pleasure  a  disappoi  ited  man,  as  everybody 

knew  I     Bi  sw  was  a  daisy  of  an  English  maiden  ; 

tod  to  the  heart's  cue   and  most  hidden 

— ilile   in   all    hei    accustomed   daily 

ways,   yet  not   so  much  without  imagination  as 

not  to  •  i  range 

of  knowledge  and  cxpei  ence  in  which   her  days 

had  hithei  Bo  been  pas  ted.     Add  to  this  her  pretty 

-nt  healthy  complexion,  loved) 


33 


MRS.  LIRRIPER'S  LODGINGS. 


and  quite  enough  of  beauty  in  her  features  to 
have  rendered  her  the  belle  of  a  country  town,  if 
her  lot  lia.l  been  east  in  such  a  place  ;  and  it  is 
not  to  be  wondered  at,  that,  after  she  had  been 
secretly  in  love  with  Duke  with  all  her  heart  for 
nearly  a  year,  almost  worshipping  him,  he  should 
discover  that  of  all  the  women  he  had  ever  known 
— except  perhaps  the  lost  Theresa — Bessy  Haw- 
trey  had  it  in  her  power  to  make  him  the  happiest 
of  men. 

Sir  Mark  grumbled  a  little  ;  but  now-a-days 
he  grumbled  at  every  thing,  poor  disappointed, 
all  but  childless,  old  man.  As  to  the  vicar  he  stood 
astonished  and  almost  dismayed.  "  Have  you 
thought  enough  about  it,  Mr.  Duke  ?"  the  par- 
son asked.  "  Young  men  are  apt  to  do  things  in 
a  hurry,  that  they  repent  at  leisure.  Bessy  is  a 
good  girl,  a  good  girl.  God  bless  her ;  but  she 
has  not  been  brought  up  as  your  wife  should  have 
been:  at  least  as  folks  will  say  your  wife  should 
have  been.  Though  I  may  say  for  her  she  has  a 
very  pretty  sprinkling  of  mathematics.  I  taught 
her  myself,  Mr.  Duke  ?" 

"  May  I  go  and  ask  her  myself?  I  only  want 
your  permission,"   urged  Duke. 

"  Ay,  go !  But  perhaps  you'd  better  ask  Mad- 
am first.  She  will  like  to  be  told  everything  as 
soon  as  me." 

But  Duke  did  not  care  for  Madam.  He  rushed 
through  the  open  door  of  the  Parsonage,  into  the 
homely  sitting-rooms,  and  softly  called  for  Bessy. 
When  she  came,  he  took  her  by  the  hand  and 
led  her  forth  into  the  field-path  at  the  back  of 
the  orchard,  and  there  he  won  his-  bride  to  the 
full  content  of  both  their  hearts. 

All  this  time  the  inhabitants  of  Crowley  Castle 
and  the  quiet  people  of  the  neighbouring  village 
of  Crowley,  heard  but  little  of  "  The  Countess," 
as  it  was  their  fashion  to  call  her.  Sir  Mark  had 
his  letters  from  her,  it  is  true,  and  he  read  them 
over  and  over  again,  and  moaned  over  them,  and 
sighed,  and  put  them  carefully  away  in  a  bundle. 
But  they  were  like  arrows  of  pain  to  him.  None 
knew  their  contents;  none,  even  knowing  them, 
would  have  dreamed,  any  more  than  he  did,  for 
all  his  moans  and  sighs,  of  the  utter  wretched- 
ness of  the  writer.  Love  had  long  since  vanish- 
ed from  the  habitation  of  that  pair  ;  a  habitation, 
not  a  home,  even  in  its  brightest  days.  Love  had 
gone  out  of  the  window,  long  before  poverty  had 
come  in  at  the  door  ;  yet  that  grim  visitant  who 
never  tarries  in  tracking  a  disreputable  gam- 
bler had  now  arrived.  The  count  lost  the  last 
remnants  of  his  character  as  a  man  who  played 
honourably,  and  thenceforth — that  being  pretty 
nearly  the  only  sin  which  banished  him  from 
good  society  in  those  days — he  had,  to  play  where 
and  how   he    could.       Theresa's   moiiev    went   as 


her  poor  angry  father  had  foretold.  Bynhd-by, 
and  without  her  consent,  her  jewel-box  was  rifled  ; 
the  diamonds  round  the  locket  holding  her  moth- 
er's picture  were  wrenched  and  picked  out  by  no 
careful  band.  Victorine  found  Theresa  crying 
over  the  poor  relics  ; — crying  at  last,  without  dis- 
guise, as  if  her  heart  would  break. 

"Oh,  mamma  !  mamma  '  mamma!  she  sobbed 
out,  holding  up  the  smashed  and  disfigured  min- 
iature as  an  explanation  of  her  grief.  She  was 
sitting  on  the  floor,  on  which  she  had  thrown  her- 
self in  the  first  discovery  of  the  theft  Victorine 
sat  down  by  her,  taking  her  head  upon  her  breast, 
and  soothing  her.  She  did  not  ask  who  had  done 
it;  she  asked  Theresa  no  question  which  the  lat- 
ter would  have  shrunk  from  answering ;  she 
knew  all  rn  that  hour,  without  the  count's  name 
having  passed  the  lips  of  either  of  them.  And 
from  that  time  she  watched  him  as  a  tiger  watches 
his  prey. 

When  the  letters  came  from  England,  the  three 
letters  from  Sir  Mark  and  the  affianced  bride  and 
bridegroom,  announcing  the  approaching  mar- 
riage of  Duke  and  Bessy,  Theresa  took  them 
straight  to  Victorine.  Theresa's  lips  were  tight- 
ened, her  pale  cheeks  were  paler.  She  waited  for 
Victorine  to  speak.  Not  a  word  did  the  French- 
woman utter  ;  but  she  smoothed  the  letters  one 
over  the  other, and  tore  them  in  two,  throwing 
the  pieces  on  the  ground,  and  stamping  on  them. 
"Oh,  Victorine  !"  cried  Theresa,  dismayed  at 
passion  that  went  so  far  beyond  her  own,  "I  nev- 
er expected  it — I  never  thought  of  it — but,  per- 
haps, it  was  but  natural." 

"It  was  not  natural ;  it  was  infamous  !  To  have 
loved  you  once,  and  not  to  wait  for  chances,  but 
to  take  up  with  that  mean  poor  girl  at  the  Par- 
sonage. Pah  !  and  her  letter !  Sir  Mark  is  of  my 
mind,  though,  I  can  see.  I  am  sorry  I  tore  up 
your  letter.  He  feels,  he  knows,  that  Mr.  Duke 
Brownlow  ought  to  have  waited,  waited,  waited- 
Some  one  waited  fourteen  years,  did  he  not  1 
The  count  will  not  live  forever." 

Theresa  did  not  see  the  face  of  wicked  mean- 
ing as  -those  last  words  were  spoken. 

Another  year  rolled  heavily  on  its  course  of 
wretchedness  to  Theresa.  That  same  revolution 
of  time  brought  increase  of  peace  and  joy  to  the 
English  couple,  striving,  humbly,  striving  well, 
to  do  their  duty  as  children  to  the  unhappy  and 
deserted  Sir  Mark.  They  had  their  reward  in 
the  birth  of  a  little  girl.  Yet,  close  on  the  heels 
of  this  birth  followed  a  great  sorrow.  The  good 
parson  died,  after  a  short  sudden  illness.  Then 
came  the  customary  trouble  after  the    death  of  a 


* 


clergyman.  The  jvidow  had  to  leave  the  Par- 
sonage, the  home  of  a  lifetime,  and  seek  a  new 
resting-place  for  her  declining  years. 


MRS.  LIRRIPER'S  LODGINGS 


23 


Fortunately  for  all  parties,  the  now  vicar  was 
a  bachelor;  no  other  than  the  tutor  who  had  ac- 
companied Duke  on  his  grand  tour ;  and  it  was 
made  a  condition  that  he  should  allow  the  widow 
of  his  predecessor  to  remain  at  the  Parsonage  as 
his  housekeeper.  Bessy  would  fain  have  had  her 
mother  at  the  castle,  and  this  course  would  have 
been  infinitely  preferred  by  Madam  Hawtrey, 
who,  indeed,  suggested  the  wish  to  her  daughter. 
But  Sir  Mark  was  obstinately  against  it  ;  nor  did 
he  spare  bis  caustic  remarks  on  Madam  Hawtrey, 
even  before  her  own  daughter.  He  had  never 
quite  forgiven  Duke's  marriage,  although  he  was 
personally  exceedingly  fond  of  Bessy.  He  refer- 
red this  marriage,  in  some  part,  and  perhaps  to 
no  greater  extent  than  was  true,  to  madam's  good 
managment  in  throwing  the  young  people  togeth- 
er ;  and  he  was  explicit  in  the  expression  of  his 
opinion. 

Poor  Theresa  !  Every  day  she  more  and  more 
bitterly  rued  her  ill-starred  marriage.  Often  and 
often  she  cried  to  herself,  when  she  was  alone  in 
the  dead  of  the  night,  "I  cannot  bear  it — I  cannot 
bear  it!"  But  again  in  the  daylight  her  pride 
would  help  her  to  keep  her  woe  to  herself.  She 
could  not  bear  the  gaze  of  pitying  eyes;  she  could 
not  bear  even  Victorine' s  fierce  sympathy.  She 
might  have  gone  home  like  a  poor  prodigal  to 
her  father,  if  Duke  and  Bessy  had  not,  as  she 
imagined,  reigned  triumphant  in  her  place,  both 
in  her  father's  heart  and  in  her  father's  borne. 
And  all  this  while,  that  father  almost  baled  the 
tender  attentions  which  were  rendered  to  him  by 
those  who  were  not  his  Theresa,  his  only  child, 
for  whose  presence  he  yearned  and  longed  in 
silent  misery  Then  again  (to  return  to  Theresa), 
her  husband  had  his  fits  of  kindness  towards  her. 
If  he  had  been  very  fortunate  in  play,  if  he  had 
heard  other  men  admire  her,  he  would  come  back 
for  a  few  moments  to  his  loyalty,  anil  would  lure 
back  the  poor  tortured  heart,  only  to  crush  it 
One  day — after  a  short  time  of  easy 
temper,  caresses,  and  levity — she  found  out  some- 
thing, I  know  not  what,  in  an  life,  which  stung 
i  the  quick,  Her  sharp  wits  and  sharper 
•    «poke  out  i  :   insults  |    at 

smiled,  ns  if  rather  ami-  ibe    m 

king  her  brain  to  tind    stabbii 
but  at  length  she  touched  some  sore  ;  he 
lost  the  mocking  smile  upon  his  face,  but 
flashed  lurid  fire,  and  hit  ind    fell 

on  her  white  shoulder  with   n  terrible  blow  ! 

itood     up,    facing    him  deadly 

whitb.     "The  poor  old  man   at    hum.  '"     was  all 
she  said,  tremblii  .  all  over,    but    with 

I 
Irom  her  look,  laughed  aloud'to     hide    w 
feeling  nn^iit  be  hidden  in    ins  i"n,,m,    and    left 


the  room.  She  only  said  again,  "The  poor  old 
man — the  poor  old  deserted,  desolate  man  !" 
and  felt  about  blindly  for  a  chair. 

She  had  not  sat  down  a  minute  though,  before 
she  started  up  and  rang  her  bell.  It  was  victor- 
ine's office  to  answer  it :  but  Theresa  looked  al- 
most surprised  to  see  her.  "You — I  wanted  the 
others — I  want  them  all !  They  shall  all  see  how 
their  master  treats  his  wife!  Look  here!"  she 
pushed  the  gauze  neckerchief  from  her  shoulder — 
the  mark  was  there  red  and  swollen.  Bid  them 
all  come,  here — Victorine,  Amadee,  Jean,  Adele 
— all  will  be  justified  by  their  testimony,  what- 
ever I  do  !"  Then  she  fell  to  shaking  and  crying. 
Victorine  said  nothing,  but  went  to  a  certain 
cupboard  where  she  kept  medicines  and  drugs  of 
which  she  alone  knew  the  properties,  and  there 
she  mixed  a  draught,  which  she  made  her  mis- 
tress take.  Whatever  its  nature  was,  it  was  sooth- 
jng.  Theresa  leaned  back  in  her  chair,  still  sob- 
bing heavily  from  time  to  time,  until  at  last  she 
dropped  into  a  kind  of  doze.  Then  Victorine 
softly  lifted  the  neckerchief,  which  had  fallen  in- 
to its  place,  and  looked  at  the  mark.  She  did 
not  speak  ;  but  her  whole  face  was  a  fearful 
threat.  After  she  had  looked  her  fill,  she  smiled 
a  deadly  smile.  And  then  she  touched  the  soft 
bruised  ilesh  with  her  lips,  much  as  though  The 
resa  were  the  child  she  had  been  twenty  years 
ago.  Soft  as  the  touch  was  Theresa  shivered, 
and  started  and  half  awoke.  "Are  they  come  r " 
she  murmured  ;  "Amadee,  Jean,  Adele  ?"  but 
without  waiting  for  an  answer  she  fell  asleep 
again. 

\  h  torine  went  quietly  back  to  the  cupbonrd 
where  she  kept  her  drugs,  and  stayed  there, 
mixing  something  noiselessly.  When  she  hail  dune 
what  she  wanted,  she  returned  to  her  nisi 
bedroom,  and  looked  at  her,  still  sleeping.  Then 
an  to  arrange  the  room.  No  blue  silk 
curtains  and  silver  mirrors,  :iow,  as  in  the  Bue 
Louis  le  Grand,  A  washed-out  faded  Indian 
chintz,  and  ati  old  battered  toilet  service  of Japan- 
ware ;  the  disorderly  signs  of  the  count1 
presence]  an  emptied  (bisk  of  liqueur. 

All  the  time  Victorine  arranged  this   room  she 
to  herself,   "At  last!  At  last!"    The- 
resa slei  •  the  daylight,  slept  late  Into  the 

leaning     back     where     sin-    bad   fallen  in 

her  chair.     She  was  so  motioi  torine 

■  d  alarmed.  she    frit    hi  r 

pulse,  a  ■    Into    the   t.-ar-stainpd 

eyelids,  and  holding  a  lighted  taper    near.  : 

Apparent  she  «<'iit  out 

nml  ordered  a  basin  of  I  when 

sins  asked  for  it.      Again  shi    sat  in  deep  l 
nothing  stirred  in  t  unber;    but  in  tin* 

HrP't  the  cai'i isge*  ll,   and    the    fool- 


84 


MES.   LIREIPEE'S  LODGINGS. 


men  and  torch -bearers  to  cry  aloud  their  mas- 
ters' names  and  titles,  to  show  what  carriage 
in  that  narrow  street  below  was  entitled  to  pre- 
cedence. A  carriage  stopped  at  the  hotel  of 
which  they  occupied  the  third  floor.  Then  the 
bell  of  their  apartment  rang  loudly — rang  violent- 
ly. Victorine  went  out  to  see  what  it  was  that 
might  disturb  her  darling — as  she  called  Theresa 
t-o  herself — her  sleeping  lady  as  she  spoke  of  her 
to  her  servants. 

She  met  thoie  servants  bringing  in  their  mas- 
ter, the  count,  dead.  Dead  with  a  sword-wound 
received  in  some  infamous  struggle.  Victorine 
stood  and  looked  at  him.  "Better  sor"  she  mut- 
tered. "Better so.  But,  monseigneur,you shall. take 
this  with  you,  whithersoever  your  wicked  soul 
is  fleeing."  And  she  struck  him  a  stroke  on  his 
shoulder,  just  whore  Theresals  bruise  was.  It  was 
as  light  a  stroke  as  well  could  be  ;  but  this  irrev- 
erence to  the  dead  called  forth  indignation  even 
from  the  hardest  bearers  of  the  body.  Little  reck- 
ed Victorine.  She  turned  her  back  on  the  corpse, 
went  to  her  cupboard,  took  out  the  mixture  she 
had  made  with  so  much  care,  poored  it  out  upon 
the  bare  wooden  floor,  and  smeared  it  about  with 
her  fpot. 

A  fortnight  later,  when  no  news  had  come  from 
Theresa  for  many  weeks,  a  poor  chaise  was  seen 
from  the  castle  windows  lumbei'ing  slowly  up  the 
carriage  road  to  the  gate.  No  one  thought  much 
of  it;  perhaps  it  was  some  friend  of  the  house- 
keeper's; perhaps  it  was  some  humble  relation  of 
Mrs.  Duke's  (for  many  such  had  found  out  their 
cousin  since  her  marriage).  No  one  noticed  the 
shabby  carriage  much,  until-  the  hall-porter  was 
startled  by  the  sound  of  the  great  bell  pealing, 
and,  on  opening  wide  the  hall-doors,  saw  standing 
before  him  the  Mademoiselle  Victorine  of  old 
days — thinner,  sallower,  in  mourning.  In  the  car- 
riage sat  Thei-esa,  in  the  deep  widow's  weeds  of 
those  days.  She  looked  out  of  the  carriage-win- 
dow wistfully,  in  beyond  Joseph,  the  hall-porter. 

"My  father!"  she  ci-ied,  eagerly,  before  Vic- 
torine could  speak.  "Is  Sir  Mark— well  ?"  ("alive" 
was  her  first  thought,  but  she  dared  not  give  the 
word  utterance.) 

♦'Call  Mr.  Duke ."'  said  Joseph,  speaking  to 
some  one  unseen. -Then  he  came  forward.  "God 
bless  you,  Miss  !  God  bless  you  !  And  this  day  of 
all  days  !  Sir  Mark  is  well — least-ways  he's  sad- 
ly changed.,  Where's  Mr.  Duke?  Call  him;  My 
young  lady's  fainting  !" 

And  this  was  Theresa's  return  home.  None 
ever  knew  how  much  she  had  suffered  since  she 
had  left  home.  If  any  one  had  known,  Victorine 
would  never  have  stood  there  dressed  in  that 
Vnourning.  She  put  it  on,  surely  against  her  will, 
for  the  purpose  of  unpholding  the   lying  fiction  of 


Theresa's  having  been  a  prosperous  marriage.  She 
was  always  indignant  if  any  one  of  the  old  ser- 
vants fell  back  into  the  once  familiar  appellation 
of  Miss  Theresa.  "The  countess,"  she  would  say, 
in  lofty  rebuke. 

What  passed  between  Theresa  and  her  father 
at  that  first  interview  no  one  ever  knew.  Whether 
she  told  him  anything*  of  her  married  life,  or 
whether  she  onby  soothed  the  tears  he  shed  on 
seeing  her  again,  by  sweet  repetition  of  tender 
words  and  cai'esses — such  as  are  the  sugared  pab- 
ulum of  age  as  well  as  of  infancy — no  one  ever 
knew.  Neither  Duke  nor  his  wife  ever  heard  her 
allude  to  the  time  she  had  passed  in  Paris,  ex- 
cept in  the  most  cursory  and  superficial  manner. 
Sir  Mark  was  anxious  to  show  her  .that  all  was  for- 
given, and  would  fain  have  displaced  Bessy  from 
her  place  as  lady  of  the  castle,  and  made  Theresa 
take  the  headship  of  the  house,  and  sit  at  table 
where  the  mistress  ought  to  be.  And  Bessy  would 
have  given  up  her  onerous  dignities  without  •  a 
word ;  for  Duke  was  always  more  jealous  for  his 
wife's  position  than  she  herself  was,  but  Theresa 
declined  to  assume  any  such  place  in  the  house- 
hold, saying,in  the  languid  way  which  now  seemed 
habitual  to  her,  that  English  house-keeping,  and 
all  the  domestic  arrangements  of  an  English  coun- 
try house  were  cumbrous  and  wearisome  tQ  her  ; 
that  if  Bessy  would  continue  to  act  as  she  had 
done  hitherto,  and  would  so  forestal  what  must 
bo  her  natural  duties  at  some  future  period,  she, 
Theresa,  would  be  infinitely  obliged. 

Bessy  consented,  and  in  every  thing  tried  to 
remember  what  Theresa  liked,  and  how  affairs 
were  ordered  in  the  old  Theresa  days.  She  wish- 
ed the  servants  to  feel  that  "the  countess"  had 
equal  rights  with  herself  in  the  management  of  the 
house.  But  she,  to  whom  the  housekeeper  takes 
her  accounts — she  in  whose  hands  the  power  of 
conferring  favors  and  privileges  remains  de  facto 
— will  always  be  held  by  servants  as  the  mistress ; 
and  Theresa's  claims  soon  sank  into  the  back- 
ground. At  first,  she  was  too  broken-spirited,  top 
languid,  to  care  for  anything  but  quiet  rest  in  her 
father's  companionship.  They  sat  sometimes  for  . 
hours  hand  in  hand  ;  or  they  sauntered  out  on  the 
terraces,  hardly  speaking,  but  happy;  because  they 
were  once  more  together,  and  once  more  on  loving 
terms.  Theresa  grew  strong  during  this  time  of 
gentle  brooding  peace.  The  pinched  pale  face 
of  anxiety  lined  with  traces  of  suffering,  relaxed 
into  the  soft  oval ;  the  light  came  into  the  eyes, 
the  colour  came  into  the  cheeks. 

But,  in  the  autumn  after  Theresa's  return,  Sir 
Mark  died ;  it  had  been  a  gradual  decline  of 
strength,  and  his  last  moments  were  passed  in 
her  arms.  Her  new  misfortune  threw  her  back 
into  the  wan  worn  creature    she  had  been    when 

■ 


MRS.  LIRRIPER'S  LODGINGS. 


she  first  came  home,  a  widow,  to  Crowley  Castle  ; 
she  shut  herself  up  in  her  rooms,  ami  allowed  no 
one  to  como  near  her  hut  Victorine.  Neither 
Duke  nqr  Bessy  was  admitted  into  the  darkened 
rooms,  whirh  she  had  hung  with  hlack  cloth  in 
solemn  funereal  state. 

Victorine's  lite  since  her  return  to  the  castle 
had  been  anything  but  peaceable.  New  powers 
had  arisen  in  the  housekeeper's  room  Madam 
BroWnlow  had  her  maid,  far  mere  exacting:  than 
Madam  Brownlow  herself;  and  a  new  house- 
keeper reigned  in  the  place  of  her  who  was  for- 
merly but  an  echo  of  Victorine's  opinions.  Vic- 
torine's own  temper,  t&o,  was!  not  improved  by 
her  four  years  abroad,  and  there  was  a  genera! 
disposition  among  the  servants  to  resist  all  her  as- 
sumption of  authority.  She  felt  her  powerless- 
ness  after  a  struggle  or  two,  but  treasured  up  her 
vengeance.  If  she  had  lost  power  over  the  house- 
hold, however,  there  was  no  diminution  of  her 
influence  over  her  mistress.  It  was  her  device  at 
last  that  lured  the  countess  out  of  her  gloomy 
seclusion. 

Almost  the  only  creature  Victorine  cared  for, 
besides  Theresa,  was  the  little  Mary  Brownlow. 
What  there  was  of  softness  in  her  woman's  na- 
ture seemed  to  come  out  towards  children  ;  though, 
if  the  child  bad  been  a  boy  instead  of  a  girl,  it  is 
probable  that  Victorine  might  not  have  taken  it 
into  her  good  graces.  As  it  was,  the  French 
nurse  and  the  English  child  were  capital  friends  ; 
and  when  Victorine  sent  Mary  into  the  countess's 
room,  and  bade  her  not  be  afraid, but  ask  the  ladv 
in  her  infantine  babble  to  come  out  and  see  Mary's 
snow-man,  she  knew  that  the  little  one,  for  her 
sake,  would  put  her  small  hand  into  Theresa's, 
and  thus  plead  with  more  success,  because  with 
less  purpose,  than  any  one  else  had  been  able  to 
plead.  Out  came  Theresa,  colourless  and  sad, 
holding  Mary  by  the  hand.  They  went,  unobser- 
ved as  they  thought,  to  tl  illeryrwindow, 
and  looked  out  into  the  court-yard  ;  then  Theresa 
returned,  to  her  rooms.  But  the  jce  was  broken, 
and  before  the  winter  was  over,  Theresa  fell  into 
hpr  old  ways,  and  sometimes   smiled,    and  some- 

■  nil  laughed,    until    chance  visitor- 
spoke  of  her  rare  beauty   and  her  courtly 

It  was  noticeable  that  Theresa   revived  first  out 
of  Ih'1-  lassitude  to  an  interest  in  all    Duk. 
SUitS.      She  grt  #  w 

domestic  talk — now  about  ts,  now  about 

Iter  mother    and  tl 

parish.     She  questionod  i1  his    travels, 

and  could  enter  into  hi.~   appreciation    and  judg- 
ment of  foreign  nations  ;  she  perci  ived  n  • 
powers  of  his  mind  ;  she  became  impatient  of  their 
img  dormant  in  country  seclusion.    She  hod 
i  of  leaving  I  nd  of  finding 


some  other  home,  soon  after  her  father's  death  ; 
but  both  Duke  and  Bessy  had  urged  her  to  stay 
with  them,  Bessy  saying,  in  the  pure  innocence  oi 
her  heart,  how  glad  she  was  that,  in  the  probably 
increasing  cares  of  her  nursery,  Duke  would  have 
a  Companion  so  much  to  his  mind. 

About  a  year  after  Sir  Mark's  death,  the  mem- 
ber for  Sussex  died,  and  Theresa  set  herself  to  stir 
up  Duke  to  assume  his  place.  With  some  diffi- 
culty (for  Bessy  was  passive-  perhaps  even  op- 
posed to  the  scheme  in  her  quiet  way),  Theresa 
succeeded,  and  Duke  was  elected.  She  was 
vexed  at  Bessy's  torpor,  as  she  called  it, in  the 
whole  affair;  vexed  as  she  now  often  was  with 
Bessy's  sluggish  interest  in  all  things  beyond  her 
immediate,  ken.  Once,  when  Theresa  tried  to 
make  Bessy  perceive  how  Duke  might  shine  and 
rise  in  his  new  sphere,  Bessy  burst  info  tears,  and 
said,  "Yon  speak  as  if  his  presence  here  were  noth- 
ing, and  his  fame  in  London  everything.  I  can 
not  help  fearing  that  hi1  will  leave  oil"  caring  for 
all  the  quiet  ways  in  which  we  have  been  so  happy 
ever  since  we  were  married." 

"But  when  he  is  here,"  replied  Theresa,  'and 
when  he  wants  to  talk  to  you  of  politics,  of  for- 
eign news,  of  great  public  interests,  you  drug  him 
down  to  your  level  of  woman's  cares." 

"Do  I?"  said  Bessy.  "Do  I  drag  him  down  ?" 
I  wish  I  was  cleverer;  but  you  know,  Theresa,  I 
was  never  clever  in  anything  but  housewifery." 

Theresa  was  touched  for  a  moment  by  this 
humility. 

"Vet,  Bessy,  you  have  a  great  deal  of  judg" 
ment,  if  you  will  but  exercise  it.  Try  and  take 
an  interest  in  all  he  cares  for,  as  Well  as  making 
him  try  and  take  an  interest  in  home  alia  I 

But,  somehow,  this  kfnd  of  conversation  too  of- 
ten ended  in  dissatisfaction  on  both  sides;  and 
the  servants  gathered,  from  induction  rather  than 
from  words,  that  the  two  ladies  wire  not  on  the 
most  cordial  terms ;  however  friendly  they  might 
wish  to  be,  and  might  strive  to  appear.     Madam 

Hawtrcy,  too,  allowed  het  jealousy   of  Tie  I 

into  dislike. 
some    unreasonable    way,    she     had  taken    it  into 
her    head    that    Tie 

reason  why  she  was  not  urged  to  take  up 
her  abode  there  on  Sir  Mark's  death:  as  il   there 

.  lodgM 

a   wilderness  of  dowagers  in  the  building, 
But    D  had  certain 

I  in  bis  miml  ;     and  one  was  a 
to  his  mother-in-la 
pany.  But  he  greatly  inert  ased  her  ini 
as  he  had  it  in  Us  power,  and    left  it   enti 
.  id  it. 

Madam   linwti 


26 


MRS.   LIRRIPER'S  LODGINGS. 


to  such  watering-places  as  were  in  vogue  at  that 
dav,  or  went  to  pay  visits  at  the  houses  of  those' 
friends  who  occasionally  came  lumbering  up  in 
shabby  vehicles  to  visit  their  cousin  Bessy  at  the 
castle.  Theresa  cared  little  for  Madam  Haw- 
trey's  coldness;  perhaps,  indeed,  never  perceived 
it.  She  gave  up  striving  with  Bessy,  too  ;  it  was 
hopeless  to  try  to  make  her  an  intellectual  ambi- 
tious companion  to  her  husband.  He  had  spoken 
in  the  House ;  he  had  written  a  pamphlet  that 
made  much  noise  ;  the  minister  of  the  day  had 
sought  him  out  aud~was  trying  to  attach  him  to 
the  government.  Theresa,  with  her  Parisian  ex- 
perience of  the  way  in  which  women  influenced 
politics,  would  have  given  anything  for  the 
Brownlovvs  to  have  taken  a  house  in  London. 
She  longed  to  see  the  great  politicians,  to  find 
herself  in  the  thick  of  the  struggle  for  place  and 
power,  the  brilliant  centre  of  all  what  was 
worth  hearingand  seeing  in  the  kingdom.  There 
had  been  some  talk  of  this  same-  London  house  ; 
but  Bessy  had  pleaded  against  it  earnestly  while 
Theresa  sat  by  in  indignant'  silence,  until  she 
could  bear  the  discussion  no  longer  ;  going  off  to 
her  own  sitting  room,  where  Victorine  was  at 
work.  Here  her  pent-up  words  found  vent — not 
addressed  to  her  servant,  but  not  restrained  before 
her  : 

"I  can  not  bear  it — to  see  him  cramped  in  by 
her  narrow  mind,  to  hear  her  weak  selfish  argu- 
ments, urged  because  she  feels  she  would  be  out 
of  place  beside  him.  And  Duke  is  hampered 
with  this  woman  ;  he  whose  powers  are  unknown 
even  to  himself,  or  he  would  put  her  feeble  nature 
on  one  side,  and  seek  his  higher  atmosphere. 
How  he  would  shine!  How  he  does  shine!  Good 
Heaven  !     To  think " 

And  here  she  sank  into  silence,  watched  by 
Victorine's  furtive  eyes. 

Duke  had  excelled  all  he  had  previously  done 
by  some  great  burst  of  eloquence,  and  the  coun- 
try rang  with  his  words.  He  was  to  come  down 
to  Crowley  Castle  for  a  parliamentary  recess, 
which  occurred  almost  immediately  after  this. 
Theresa  calculated  the  hours  of  each  part  of  the 
complicated  journey,  and  could  have  told  to  five 
minutes  when  he  might  be  expected  ;  but  the 
baby  was  ill  and  absorbed  all  Bessy's  attention. 
She  was  in  the  nursery  by  the  cradle  in  which  the 
child  slep,  when  her  husband  came  riding  up  to 
the  castle  gate.  But  Theresa  was  at  the  gate  . 
her  hair  all  out  of  powder,  and  blowing  away  into 
dishevelled  curls,  as  the  hood  of  her  cloak  fell 
hack ;  her  lips  parted  with  a  breathless  welcome  ; 
her  eyes  shining  out  love  and  pride.  Duke  was 
hut  mortal.  All  London  chanted  his  rising  fame  ; 
and  here  in  his  home  Theresa  seemed  to  be  the 
only  person  who  appreciated  him. 


The  servants  clustered  in  the  great  hall ;  for  it 
was  now  some  length  of  time  since  he  had  been  at 
home.  Victorine  was  there,  with  some  head-gear 
for  her  lady  ;  and  when,  in  reply  to  his  inquiry  for 
his  wife,  the  grave  butler  asserted  that  she  was 
with  young  master,  who  was,  they  feared,  very 
seriously  ill,  Victorine  said,  with  the  familiarity  of 
an  old  servant,  and  as  if  to  assuage  Duke's  anxi- 
ety :  "Madam  fancies  the  child  is  ill,  because,  she 
can  think  of  nothing  but  him,  and  perpetual 
watching  has  made  her  nervous."  The  child, 
however,  was  really  ill  ;  and  after  a  brief  greeting 
to  her  husband,  Bessy  returned  to  her  nursery, 
leaving  Theresa  to  question,  to  hear,  to  sympa- 
thise. That  night  she  gave  way  to  another  burst  of 
disparaging  remarks  on  poor  motherly  homely 
Bessy,  and  that  night  Victorine  thought  she  read 
a  deeper  secret  in  Theresa's  heart. 

The  child  was  scarcely  ever  out  of  his  mother's 
arms;  but  the  illness  became  worse,  and  it  was 
nigh  unto  death.  Some  cream  had  been  set 
aside  for  the  little  wailing  creature,  and  Victorine 
had  unwillingly  used  it  for  the  making  of  a  cos-  • 
metic  for  her  mistress.  When  the  servant  in 
charge  of  it  reproved  her,  a  quarrel  began  as  to 
their  respective  mistresse's  right  to  give  orders  in 
the  household.  Before  the  dispute  ended,  pretty 
strong  things  had  been  said  on  both  sides. 

The  child  died.  The  heir  was  lifeless  ;  the  ser- 
vants were  in  whispering  dismay,  and  bustling 
discussion  of  their  mourning  ;  Duke  felt  the  van- 
ity of  fame,  as  compared  to  a  baby's  life.  Theresa 
was  full  of  sympathy,  but  dared  not  express  it  to 
him;  so  tender  was  her  heart  becoming.  Vic- 
torine regretted  the  death  in  her  own  way.  Bessy 
lay  speechless,  and  tearless  ;  not  caring  for  loving 
voices,  nor  for  gentle  touches  ;  taking  neither  food 
nor  drink  ;  neither  sleeping  nor  weeping.  "Send 
for  her  mother,"  the  doctor  said;  for  Madam 
Hawtrey  was  away  on  her  visits,  and  the  letters 
telling  her  of  her  grandchild's  illness  had  not 
reached  her  in  the  slow-delaying  cross-country 
posts  of  those  days.  So  she  was  sent  for  ;  by  a 
man  riding  express,  as  a  quicker  and  surer  means 
than  the  post. 

Meanwhile, the  nurses,  exhausted  by  their  watch- 
ing, found  the  care  of  little  Mary  by  the  day  quite 
enough.  Madam's  maid  sat  up  with  Bessy  for  a 
night  or  two;  Duke  striding  in  from  time  to  time 
through  the  dark  hours  to  look  at  the  white  mo- 
tionless face,  which  would  have  seemed  like  the 
face  of  one  dead,  but  for  the  long-quivering  sighs 
that  came  up  from  the  overladen  heart.  The  doctor 
tried  his  drugs,  in  vain,  and  then  he  tried  again. 
This  night,  Victorine  at  her  own  earnest  request, 
sat  up  instead  of  the  maid.  As  usual,  towards 
midnight,  Duke  came  stealing  in  with  shaded 
light.  "Hush!"  said  Victorine,  her  finger  on  her 
lips.     "She  sleeps  at   last."       Morning  dawned 


MRS.  LIRKIPER'S  LODGINGS, 


97 


faint  and  pal?)  and  still  slie  slept.  The  doctor 
came,  and  stole  in  on  tip-tor,  rejoicing  in  the  ef- 
fect o£  his  drugs.  They  all  stood  round  the  bed; 
Duke,  Theresa.  Victorine.  Suddenly  the  doctor 
— a  strange  change  upon  him,  a  strange  fear  in 
his  lace, — felt  the  patient's  pulse,  put  his  ear  to 
her  open  lips,  called' for  a  glass — b  feather.  The 
"mirror  was  nol  dimmed,  thedelicate  fibres  stirred 
not.      Bessy  was  dead. 

I  pass  rapidly  over  many  months.  Theresa 
was  again  overwhelmed  with  grief,  or  rather,  1 
should  say,  remorse  ;  for  now  that  Bessy  was  gone, 
and  buried  our  of  sight,  all  her  innocent  virtues, 
all  her  feminine  homeliness,  came  vividly  into 
la's  mind — not  as  wearisome,  but  as  admi- 
rable, qualities  of  which  she  bad  been  too  blind  to 
perceive  the  value.  Bessy  had  been  her  own  old 
companion  too,  in  the  happy  days  ol'ehildhold,  and 
of  innocence.  Theresa  rather  shunned  than  sought 
Duke's  company  now.  She  remained  at  the  cas- 
tle, it  is  true,  and  Madam  Hawtrey,  as  Theresa's 
only  condition  of  continuing  where  she  was,  came 
to  live  under  the  Same  roof.  Duke  felt  bis  wife's 
death  deeply,  but  reasonably,  as  became  his  cha- 
racter. He  was  perplexed  by  Theresa's  bursts  of 
grief,  knowing,  as  he  dimly  did,  that  she  and  Bessy 
had  not  lived  together  in  perfect  harmony.  But 
he  was  much  in  London  now  ;  arising  statesman  ; 
and  when,  in  autumn,  he  spent  some  time  at  the 
castle, .he  was  full  of  admiration  for  the  Btrangely 
patient  way  in  which  Theresa  behaved  towards  the 
old  lady.  It  seemed  to  Duke  that,  in  his  absence 
Madam  Hawtrey  had  assumed  absolute  power  in 
his  household,  and  that  the  high-spirited  Theresa 
submitted  to  her  fantasies  with  even  more  docility 
than  her  own  daughter  would  have  done.  Towards 
Mary,  Theresa  was  always  kind  and  indulgent. 

Another  autumn  came,  and  before  it  went,  old 
ties  were    renewed,  and  Theresa's  was  pledged   to 

become  her  cousin's  wife. 

There  were  two  people  strpngly  affected  by  this 

news   when    it    was    promulgated  ;    one and    this 

was  natural  under  the  circumstances— was  Mad- 
am Hawtrey;  who  chose  to  resent  the  marriage 

us  a   deep  personal  offence  to  herself  as  well  as  to 

her  daughter's  memory,  and  who  sternly  rejecting 

nil  Theresa's   entreaties,  and   Duke's  invitation  to 
continue  her  residence  at  the  castle,  went  off  info 
the  village.      The  other  person  strong- 
ly atl'  ct<  d  by  the  news  was  Viotorine. 

From    being    a    dry   i  middle < 

aged  woman,  she  now,  at  the  time  of  '1 

engagement,  sank  into  the  passive  languor  of  ad- 
!  life.  It  seemed  as  if  she  fell  no  more 
need  of  effort,  or  strain,  or  exertion.  She  sought 
■olitude;  liked  nothing  better  than  to  git  in  her 
room  adjoining  Theresa's  dressing  room,  snmc- 
times  sunk  in  a  reverie,  sometimes  employed  on 
an   intricate  piece  of    knitting   with  almost  spas- 


modic activity.  Bat  wherever  Theresa  went , 
thither  would  Victorine  go.  Theresa  had  imag- 
ined that  her  old  muse  would  prefer  being  left 
at  the  castle.,  in   the  soothing  tranquility  of  the 

C itry,    to   accompanying  her   and    her  husband 

to  the  house  in  <  irosvenor-square,  which  they  had  " 
taken  for  the  parliamentary  season.  But  the 
mere  offer  pf  a  choice  seemed  to  irritate  Victo- 
rine inexpressibly.  She  looked  upon  the  propo- 
sal as  a  sign  that  Theresa  considered  her  as  su- 
perannuated— that  her  nursling  was  weary  of  her, 
and  wished  to  supplant  her  services  by  those  of  a 
younger  maid.  It  seemed  impossible  tq  dislodge 
this  idea  when  it  had  once  entered  into  her  head, 
and  it  led  to  frequent  bursts  of  temper,  in  which 
she  violently  upbraided  Theresa  for  her  ingrati- 
tude towards  so  faithful  a  follower. 

One  day,  Victorine  went  a  little  further  inker 
expressions  than  usual,  and  Theresa,  usually  so 
forbearing  towards  her,  turned  at  last.  "Really, 
Victorine!"  she  said,  "  this  is  misery  to  both  of 
us.  You  say  yon  never  feel  so  w  icked  as  when  I 
am  near  you  ;  that  my  ingratitude  is  such  as 
would  be  disowned  by  fiends  ;  what  can  I,  what 
must  I  do  ?  You  say  you  are  never  so  unhappy 
as  when  you  are  near  me  ;  must  we,  then,  part  T 
Would  that  be  for  your  happiness  ?" 

"And  is  that  what  it  has  come  to  !"  exclaimed 
Victorine.  "In  my  country  they  reckon  a  build- 
ing secure  against  wind  and  storm  and  all  the 
ravages  of  time,  if  the  first  mortar  used  ha 
tempered  with  human  blood.  But  not  even  our 
joint  secret,  though  it  was  tempered  well  with 
blood,  can  hold  our  lives  together!  How  much 
less  all  the  care,  all  the  love,  that  I  lavished  upon 
you    in  the  days  of  my  youth  and  strength  I" 

Thrtresa  came  close  to  the  chair  in  which  Vic- 
torine was  sealed.  She  took  hold  of  her  band 
and  held  it  fast  in  her  own.     "Speak  Victorine," 

said  slje,  hoarsely,   "and  tell  me  what  you   mean. 
What    is    our  joint   secret  ?      And    what    do  you 
mean   by  its  being    a   secret  of  blood  ? 
out.      I  WILL  know.'" 

"As  if  you  do  not  know!"  replied  Victorine, 
harshly.  "You  don't  remember  my  visits  to 
Bianconi,  the  Italian  chemist  in  the  Maraislong 
ago?"  She  looked  into  Theresa's  face,  1 
her  words  had  suggested  any  deeper*  meaning 
than   met  tie 

but  free  and  inno 

told  me  you  went  there  to  b  arn  tbe  com- 
position of  ci  rtain  unguents,  and  (osmetics,  and 
dome-tic  it),  dicines  " 

"Ay,   and  paid  high   for  my   kno» 
said   Victon'ne,  with  a   low  chuckle.      "  I  li 
more  t  ban  you  hare  mentioned,  my  la 

if    many    dr. 
speak   |  nit  the  nil  e'  And." 

suddi-i.  up,  "it  ««»s   for  youi    ■ 


28 


MRS.  LIRRIPER'S  LODGINGS. 


learnt  it.     For   your  service — you — who  would 
fain  cast  me  off  in  my  old  age.     For  you  !" 

Theresa  blanched  to  a  deadly  white.  But  she 
tried  to  move  neither  feature  nor  limb,  nor  to 
avert  her  eyes  for  one  moment  from  the  eyes  that 
defied  her.     "  For  my  service,  Victorine?" 

"Yes!  The  quieting  draught  was,  all  ready 
for  your  husband  when  they  brought  him  home 
dead!" 

"  Thank  God  his  death  does  not  lie  at  your 
door!"  * 

"Thank  God  ?"  mocked  Victorine.  "The  wish 
for  his  death  does  lie  at  your  door ;  and  the  in- 
tent to  rid  you  of  him  does  lie  at  my  door.  And 
I  am  not  ashamed  of  it.  Not  I !  It  was  not  for 
myself  I  would  have  done  it,  but  because  you 
suffered  so.  He  had  struck  you,  whom  I  had 
nursed  on  my  breast." 

"  Oh,  Victorine  !"  said  Theresa,  with  a  shud- 
der. "  Those  days  are  past.  Do  not  let  us  recall 
them.  I  was  so  wicked  because  I  was  so  mise- 
'  rable ;  and  now  I  am  so  happy,  so  inexpressibly 
happy,  that — do  let  me  try  to  make  you  happy 
too!" 

"  You  ought  to  try,  "  said  Victorine,  not  yet 
pacified ;  "can't  you  see  how  the  incomplete  ac- 
tion once  stopped  by  Fate  was  tried  again,  and 
with  sucees ;  and  how  you  are  now  reaping  the 
benefit  of  my  sin,  if  sin  it  was  ?" 

"Victorine  !  I  do  not  know  what  you  mean  !" 
But  some  terror  must  have  come  over  her,  she 
so  trembled  and  so  shivered. 

"Do  you  not  indeed!  Mad-une  Browulow, 
the  country  girl  from  Crowley  Parsonage,  need- 
ed sleep,  and  would  fain  forget  the  little  child's 
death  that  was  pressing  on  her  brain.  I  helped 
the  doctor  to  his  end.  She  sleeps  now,  and  She 
has  met  her  baby  before  this,  if  priests'  tules  are 
true.  And  you,  my  beauty,  my  .queen,  you  reign 
in  her  stead !  Don't  treat  the  poor  Victorine  as 
if  she  was  mad,  and  speaking  in  her  madness. 
I  have  heard  of  tricks  like  that  being  played, 
when  the  crime  was  done,  and  the  criminal  of 
use  no  longer." 

That  evening,  Duke  was  surprised  by  his  wife's 
entreaty  and  petition  that  she  might  leave  him. 
and  return  with  Victorine  and  her  other  personal 
servants  to  the  seclusion  of  Crowley  Castle.  She, 
the  great  London  toast,  the  powerful  enchantress 
of  society,  and  most  of  all,  the  dariing  wile  ami 
true  companion,  with  this  sudden  fancy  for  this 
complete  retirement,  and  for  leaving  her  husbaed 
when  he  was  first  fully  entering  into  the  compre- 
hension of  all  that  a  wife  might  be!  Was  it  ill 
health  ?  Only  last  night  she  had  been  in  daazling 
beauty,  in  brilliant  spirits  ;  this  morning  only, 
ehehad  been  so  merry  and  tender.  But  Theresa 
denied  that  she  was  in  any  way  indisposed;  and 


seemed  suddenly  so  unwilling  to  speak  of  herself, 
and  so  much  depressed,  that  Duke  saw  no'thing 
for  it  but  to  grant  her  wish  and  let  her  go.  He 
missed  her  terribly.  No  more  pleasant  tete-a- 
tete  breakfasts,  enlivened  by  her  sense  and  wit, 
and  cheered  by  her  pretty  caressing  ways.  No 
gentle  secretary  now,  to  sit  by  his  side  through 
long,  long  hours,  never  weary.  When  he  went 
into  society,  he  no  longer  found  his  appearance 
watched  and  waited  by  the  loveliest  woman  there 
When  he  came  home  from  the  House  at  night, 
there  was  no  one  to  take  an  interest  in  his'speech- 
es,  to  be  indignant  at  all  that  annoyed  him,  and 
charmed  and  proud  of  all  the  admiration  he  had 
won.  He  longed  for  the  time  to  come  when  ho 
would  be  able  to  go  down  for  a  day  or  two  to  see 
his  wife  ;  for  her  letters  appeared  to  him  dull  and 
flat  after  her  bright  companionship.  No  wonder 
that  her  letters  came  out  of  a  heavy  heart,  know- 
ing what  she  knew. 

SRe  scarcely  dared  to  go  near  Victorine,  whose 
moods  were  becoming  as  variable  as  though  she 
were  indeed  the  mad  woman  she  had  tauntingly 
defied  Theresa  to  call  her.  At  times  she  was  mis- 
erable because  Theresa  looked  so  ill,  and  seem- 
ed so  deeply  unhappy.  At  other  time3  she  was 
jealous  because  she  fancied  Theresa  shrank  from 
her  and  avoided  her.  So,  wearing  her  life  out 
with  passion,  Victorine's  health  grew  daily  worse 
and  worse  during  that  summer. 

Theresa's  only  comfort  seemed  to  be  little  * 
Mary's  society.  She  seemed  as  though  she  could 
not  lavish  love  enough  upon  the  motherless  child, 
who  repaid  Theresa's  affection  with  all  the  pretty 
demonstrativeness  of  her  age.  She  would  cany 
the  little  three-year-old  maiden  i*  her  arms  when 
she  went  to  see  Victorine,  or  would  have  Mary 
playing  about  in  her  dressing-room,  if  the  old 
Frenchwoman,  for  some  jealous  freak,  would 
come  and  arrange  her  lady's  hair  with  her  tnjmb- 
ling  hands.  To  avoid  giving  offence  to  Victorine, 
Theresa  engaged  no  other  maid  ;  to  shun  over- 
much or  over-frank  conversation  with  Victorine, 
she  always  had  little  Mary  when  there  was  a 
chance  of  the  French  waiting-maid  coming  in. 
For,  the  presence  of  the  child  was  a  holy  restraint 
even  on  Victorine's  tongue ;  she  would  some- 
times check  her  fierce  temper,  to  caress  the  little 
creature  playing  at  her  knees;  and  would  only 
dart  a  covert  bitter  sting  at  Theresa  under  the 
guise  of  a  warning  against  ingratitude,  to  Mary. 

Theresa  drooped  and  drooped  in  this  dreadful 
life.  She  sought  out  Madam  Hawtrey,  and  pray- 
ed her  to  come  on  a  long  visit  to  the  castle.  She 
was  lonely,  she  said,  asking  Madam's  company  as 
a  favour  to  herself.  Madam  Hawtrey  was  diffi- 
cult to  persuade ;  but  the  more  she  resist 
more  Theresa  entreated;  and  when  once  Madam 
was  at  the  castle,  her   own  daughter  had  never 


MRS.  LIRRIFER'S  LODGINGS. 


29 


been  SO  dutiful,  SO  humble  a  slave  to  her  slightest 
fancy  as  was  the  proud  Theresa  now. 

Yet,  for  all  this,  the  lady  of  the  castle  drooped 
aurl  drooped,  and  when  Duke  came  down  to  see 
his  darling:  he  was  in  utter  dismay  at  her  looks. 
Yet  she  said  she  was  well  enough,  only  tired. 
If  she  had  anything  more  upon  her  mind,  she  re- 
fused him  her  confidence.  He  watched  her  nar- 
rowly, trying  to  forestal  her  smallest  di  aires.  I  fi 
saw  her  tender  affection  for  Mary,  and  thought 
he  had  never  seen  so  lovely  and  lender  a  mother 
to  another  woman's  child.  He  wondered  at  her 
patience  with  Madam  Hawtrey,  remembering 
how  often  his  own  stock  had  been  exhausted  by 
his  mother-in-law,  and  how  the  brilliant  Theresa 
had  formerly  scouted  and  flouted  at  the  vicar's 
wife.  With  all  this  renewed  sense  of  bis  dar- 
ling's virtues  and  charms,  the  idea  of  losing  her 
was  terrible  to  bear. 

He  would  listen  to  no  pleas,  to  no  objections. 
Before  he  returned  to  town,  where  his  presence 
was  a  political  necessity,  he  sought  the  best  mi  .1- 
ical  advice  that  could  be  had  in  the  neighborhood. 
The  doctors  came;  they  could  make  but  little 
out  of  Theresa,  if  her  vehement  assertion  were 
true  that  she  had  nothing  on  her  mind.  Noth- 
ing. 

"  Humour  him  at  least,  my  dear  lady  !"  said 
the  doctor,  who  had  known  Theresa  from  her  in- 
fancy, but  who,  living  at  the  distant  county  town, 
was  only  called  in  on  the  Olympian  occasions  of 
great  state  illnesses.  "  Humour  your  husband, 
and  perhaps  do  yourself  some  good  too,  by  con- 
senting to  his  desire  that  you  should  have  change 
of  air.  Brighthelmstone  is  a  quiet  village  by  the 
sea-side.  Consent,  like  a  gracious  lady,  to  go 
there  for  a  few  w  i 

So,  Theresa,  worn  out  with  opposition,  consent- 
ed, and  Duke  made  all  the  arrangements]  for 
taking    her,  and    little    Mary,  and    the    ni 

of  servants,  to  Brighton,  as   we  call  it  HOW. 
lie  resolved  in  his  own  mind  that  Then 
gonal   attendant   should    be    some   woman    young 
enough  to  watch  and  wait  upon  her  niisii. 
not  \  ictorine,  to  whom  Theresa  was  in  reality  b 

MXTant.      But   of  this   plan,  neither  Theresa    nor 

Victorine  knew  anything  until  the  former  was  in 
tin-  carriage  with  her  husband  some  miles  dis- 
tant from  the  ensile.  Then  he,  ■  little  exultant 
in  the  good  management  by  which  he  supposed 
he  bad  spared  his  wife  the  pain  and  trouble  of 
decision,  told  her  that  Victorine  was  left  behind, 
and  that  a  new  accomplished  London  maid  would 
await  her  at  her  journey's  end. 

Theresa  only  exclaimed,  "O!  What  will  Vic- 
torine  say  ?"  and  covered  her  face,  and  sat  shiv- 
ering and  speechless. 

What  Victorine  did    say,  when  she  found  out 


the  trick,  as  she  esteemed  it,  that  had  been  play- 
ed upon  her,  was  too  terrible  to  repeat.  She 
lashed  herself  up  into  an  ungoverned  passion  ; 
and  then  became  so  really  and  seriously  ill  that 
the  servants  went  to  fetch  Madam  Hawtrey  in 
terror  and  dismay.  But  when  that  lady  came, 
Victorine  shut  her  eyes,  and'  refused  to  look  at 
her.  "  She  has  got  her  daughter  in  her  hand  ! 
I  will  not  look  !"  Shaking  all  the  time,  she  ut- 
tered these  awe-Stricken  WOjrds,. as  if  she  were  in 
an  ague-lit.  "  Bring  the  countess  back  to  me. 
Let  /<<T  face  the  dead  woman  standing  there.  J 
will  not  do  it.  They  wanted  her  to  sleep — and 
so  did  the  countess,  that  she  might  step  into  her 
lawful  place.  Theresa,  Theresa,  where  are  you  7 
You  tempted  me.  What  I  did,  I  did  in  your 
service.  And  you  have  gone  away,  and  left  me 
alone  with  the  dead"  woman!  It  was  the  same 
drug  as  the  doctor  gave,  after  all — only  he  gave 
little,  and  I  gave  much.  My  lady  the  countess 
spent  her  money  well  when  she  sent  me  to  the 
old  Italian  to  learn  his  trade.  Lotions  for  the 
complexion,  and  a  discriminating  use  of  poison- 
ous drugs.  I  discriminated,  and  Theresa  profit- 
ed; and  now  she  is  his  wife,  and  has  left  me 
here  alone  with  the  dead  woman.  Theresa, 
Theresa,  come  back  and  save  me  from  the  dead 
woman  !" 

Madam  Hawtrey  stood  by,  horror-stricken. — 
•'  Fetch  the  vicar,"  said  she,  under  her  breath,  to 
a  servant. 

"The  village  doctor  is  coming,"  said  some  one 
near.     "  How  shc.raves  !     Is  it  delirium  ?" 

"It  is  no  delirium,"  said  Bessy's  mother. 
"Would  to  Heaven  it  were!" 

Theresa  had  a  happy  day  with  her  husband  at 
Brighthelmstone  before  he  set  off  on  his  return 
to  London.     She   watched   him  riding  away,   bis 

servant  following  with  his  portmanteau.     Often 

and  often  did  Duke  look  back  at  the  figure  of  bis 
iving  her  handkerchief,  till  a  turn  of  the 
road  hiil  her  from  his  sir  la  II,  bad  I 
through  a  little  village  HOI  ten  miles  from  his 
home,  and  there  a  servant)  with"  his  letters  and 
further  '    him.     There  he 

found  a  mysterious,  impi  rativs  note,  requiring  his 
immediate     pi 
thing  in  the  awe-stricken  iace  ofth<  - 

tie,  led    I)uke   to  question  him.      But  all 
he  could  say  was,  thai  Victorine  lay  dyin 
that   Madam  I  ad  said  that  ail 

letter   I  turn,  and  so  would 

nee.l  no  luggl  8     ■     thing  lurk<  d 

identlv.     Duke- rode  home  at  speed.     Ti 
was  lookiiiL'  out  for  him.     "  M 

into   the  old   relations  of  tutor  and 
pupil,  '  irself." 

"What   for?"    said    Duk«,    abruptly;  for  the 


30 


MRS.  LIRRIPERS  LODGINGS. 


being  told  to  prepare  himself,  without  being  told 
for  what,  irritated  him  in  his  present  mood.  "Vic- 
torine  is  dead?" 

"  No  !  She  says  she  will  not  die  until  she  has 
seen  you,  and  got  you  to  forgive  her,  if  Madam 
Hawtrey  will  not.  But  first  read  this:  it  is  a 
terrible  confession,  made  by  her  before  me,  a  mag- 
istrate, believing  herself  to  be  on  the  point  of 
death!" 

Duke  read  the  paper — containing  little  more 
in  point  of  detail  than  I  have  already  given — the 
horrible  words  taken  down,  in  the  short-hand  in 
which  the  vicar  used  to  write  his  mild  prosy  ser- 
mons :  his  pupil  knew  the  character  of  old. — 
Duke  read  it  twice.  Then  he  said  :  "  She  is 
raving,  poor  creature  !"  But  for  all  that,  his 
heart's  blood  ran  cold,  and  he  would  fain  not 
have  faced  the  woman,  but  would  rather  have 
remained  in  doubt  to  his  dying  day. 

He  went  up  the  steps  three  stairs  at  a  time, 
and  then  turned  and  faced  the  vicar,  with  a  look 
like  the  stern  calmness  of  death.  "I  wish  to  see 
her  alone."  He  turned  out  all  the  watching  wo- 
men, and  then  he  went  to  the  bedside  where  Vic- 
torine  sat,  half  propped  up  with  pillows,  watching 
all  his  doings  and  his  looks,  with  her  hollow  awful 
eyes.  "Now,  Victorine,  I  will  read  this  paper 
aloud  to  you.  Perhaps  your  mind  has  been  wan- 
dering; but  you  understand  me  now?"  A  feeble 
murmur  of  assent  met  his  listening  ear.  ' '  If  any 
statement  in  this  paper  be  not  true,  make  me  a 
sign.  Hold  up  your  hand — for  God's  sake  hold 
up  your  hand.  And  if  you  can.  do  it  with  truth 
in  this,  your  hour  of  dying,  Lord  have  mercy  upon 
you ;  but  if  you  cannot  hold  up  your  hand,  then 
Lord  have  mercy  upon  me  !" 

He  read  the  paper  slowly  ;  clause  by  clause  he 
read  the  paper.  No  sign  ;  no  uplifted  hand.  At 
the  end  he  spoke,  and  he  bent  his  head  to  listen. 
"  The  Countess — Theresa  you  know — she  who  has 
left  me  to  die  alone — she" — then  mortal  strength 
failed,  and  Duke  was  left  alone  in  the  chamber  of 
death. 

He  stayed  in  the  chamber  many  minutes,  quite 
still.  Then  he  left  the  room,  and  said  to  the  first 
domestic  he  could  find,  "  The  woman  is  dead. 
See  that,  she  is  attended  to."  But  he  went  to 
the  vicar  and  had  a  long  talk  with  him.  He 
sent  a  confidential  servant  for  little  Mary — on 
some  pretext,  hardly  careful,  or  plausible  enough  . 
but  his  mood  was  desperate,  and  he  seemed  to 
forget  almost  everything  but  Bessy,  his  first  wife, 
his  innocent,  girlish  bride. 

Theresa  could  ill  spare  her  little  darling,  and 
was  perplexed  by  the  summons;  but  an  expla- 
nation of  it  was  to  come  in  a  day  or  two.  It 
came. 

"  Victorine  ia  dead  !    1  need  say  no  more.    She 


could  not  carry  her  awful  secret  into  the  next 
world,  but  told  all.  I  can  think  of  nothing  but 
my  poor  Bessy,  delivered  over  to  the  cruelty  of 
such  a' woman.  And  you,  Theresa,  I  leave  you 
to  your  conscience,  for  you  have  slept  in  my  bo- 
som. Henceforward  I  am  a  stranger  to  you.  By 
the  time  you  receive  this,  I,  and  my  child,  and 
that  poor  murdered  girl's  mother,  will  have  left 
England.  What  will  be  our  next  step  I  know 
not.     My  agent  will  do  for  you  what  you  need." 

Theresa  sprang  U|>  and  rang  the  bell  with  mad 
haste.  "  Get  me  a  horse  !"  'she  cried,  "and  bid 
William  be  ready  to  ride  with  me  for  his  life — for 
my  life — along  the  coast,  to  Dover!" 

They  rode  and  they  galloped  through  the  night, 
scarcely  staying  to  bait  their  horse.  But  when 
they  came  to  Dover,  they  looked  out  to  sea  upon 
the  white  sails  that  bore  Duke  and  his  child 
away.  Theresa  was  too  late,  and  it  broke  her 
heart.  She  lies  buried  in  Dover  church-yard. 
After  long  years  Duke  returned  to  England;  but 
his  place  in  parliament  knew  him  no  more,  and 
his  daughter's  husband  sold  Crowley  Castle  to  a 
stranger. 

III. 

HOW    THE    SIDE-ROOM    WAS    ATTENDED    BY    A 
DOCTOR. 

How  the  Doctor  found  his  way  into  our  so- 
ciety, none  of  us  can  tell.  It  did  not  occur  to  us 
to  inquire  into  the  matter  at  the  time,  and  now 
the  point  is  lost  in  the  dim  obscurity  of  the  past. 
We  only  know  that  he  appeared  suddenly  and 
mysteriously.  It  was  shortly  after  we  had  formed 
our  Mutual  Admiration  Society,  in  this  very  room 
in  Mrs.  Lirriper's  Lodgings.  We  were  discuss- 
ing things  in  general  in  our  usual  amiable  way, 
admiring  poets,  worshipping  heroes,  and  taking 
all  men  and  all  things  for  what  they  seemed. 
We  were  young  and  ingenuous,  pleased  with  our 
own  ideas,  and  with  each  other's  ;  full  of  belief 
and  trust  in  all  things  good  and  noble,  and  with 
no  hatred,  save  for  what  was  false,  and  base,  and 
mean.  In  this  spirit  we  were  commenting  with 
indignation  upon  a  new  heresy  with  regard  to  the 
age  of  the  world,  when  a  strange  voice  broke  in 
upon  our  conversation  : 

"  I  beg  your  pardon  ;  you  are  wrong.  The  age 
of  the  world  is  exactly  three  millions  eight  hun- 
dred and  ninety-seven  thousand  four  hundred  and 
twenty-five  years,  eight  months,  fourteen  days, 
nine  hours,  thirty-five  minutes,  and  seventeen 
seconds." 

At  the  first  sound  of  this  mysterious  voice  we 
all  looked  up,  and  perceived  standing  on  the 
hearth-rug  before  the  fire  by  which  you  6it,  Ma- 
jor, a  little  closely  knit,  middle-aged  man,  dress- 
ed in  black.  He  had  a  hooked  nose,  piercing 
black   eyes,  and  a  grizzled  beard,  and  his  head 


MRS.  LIREIPER'S  LODGINGS. 


31 


was  covered  with  a  shock  of  crisp  dark  hair.  Our 
first  impulse  was  to  resent  the  stranger's  interfer- 
ence as  an  impertinence,  and  to  demand  what 
business  he  had  in  that  room  in  Mrs.  Lirriper's 
house,  sacred  to  the  social  meetings  of  the  Mu- 
tual Admiration  Society  ?  But  we  no  sooner  set 
eyes  upon  him  than  the  impulse  was  checked,  and 
we  remained  for  a  minute  or  so  gazing  upon  the 
Stranger  in  silence.  We  saw  at  a  glance  that 
he  was  no  mere  meddling  fool.  He  was  conside- 
rably older  than  any  of  us  there  present,  his  face 
I  with  intelligence,  by s  eyes  sparkled  with 
humor,  and  his  whole  expression  was  that  of  a 
man  confident  of  mental  strength  and  superior- 
ity. The  look  on  his  face  seemed  to  imply  that 
he  had  reckoned  us  all  up  in  an  instant.  So 
much  were  we  impressed  by  the  stranger's  np- 
e,  that  we  quite  forgot  the  queries  winch 
had  naturally  occurred  to  us  when  he  interrupted 
our  conversation:  Who  are  you  1  Where  do  you 
belong  to  ?  How  did  you  come  here?  It  was 
allowable  for  a  member  of  the  society  to  intro- 
duce a  friend  ;  but  none  of  u,s  had  introduced  him, 
and  we  were  the  only  members  in  the  room. — 
None  of  us  had  seen  him  enter,  nor  had  we  been 
conscious  of  his  presence  until  we  heard  his  voice. 
On  comparing  notes  afterwards,  it  was  found  thai 
the  game  thought  had  flitted  across  all  our  minds. 
Had  he  come  down  the  chimney  ?  Or  up  through 
the  floor  ?  But  at  the  time,  as  we  saw  no  smoke 
and  smelt  no  brimstone,  we  dismissed  the  suspi- 
cion for  the  more  natural  explanation  that  some 
member  had  introduced  him,  and  had  gone  aw  iv 
leaving  him  there.  I  was  mentally  framing  a 
civil  question  with  the  view  of  elucidating  this 
point,  when  the  stranger, who  spoke  with  a  for- 
eign accent,  again  addressed  us  : 

"I  trust,"  said  he,  "I  am  not  .intruding  upon 
your  society  :  but  the  subject  of  your  discussion 
is  one  that  I  have  studied  deeply,  and  I  was  be- 
trayed into  a  remark  by — by  my  enthusiasm  :  I 
beg  you  will  pardon  me." 

lie  said  this  so  affably,  and  with  so  much  dig- 
nified politeness  of  an  elderly  kind,  that,  we  were 
all  disarmed,  and  protested,  in  a  body,  that  there 
was  DO  occasion  for  any  apology.  And  it  fol- 
lowed upon  this,  in  some  sort  of  insensible  way, 
that   the   Stronger  came   and    took    a    seat    among 

us,  and  spent  the  evening  with  ns,  proving  a 
match  for  us  in  the  airy  gaiety  of  our  di- 
and  more  than  a  match  for  ns  in  all  kinds  of 
knowledge.  We  were  all  charmed  with  the  stran- 
ger, and  he  appeared  to  be  highly  pleased  with  us. 
lie  went  away  he  shook  hands  with  us  with 
marked  cordiality  and  warmth,  and  left  us  his 
card.     It  bore  this  inscription  : 

Doctor  Goliath,  Ph.D. 
After  this,  the  doctor  regularly  frequented  our 


society,  and  we  took  his  coming  as  a  matter  of 
course)  being  quite  content  to  accept  his  great 
learning  and  numerous  accomplishments  as  a  cer- 
tificate of  his  eligibility  for  membership  in  our 
fraternity.  It  was  no  wonder  that  we  came  to 
look  up  li  the  doctor  as  a  great  personage.  His 
fund  of  knowledge  was  inexhaustible.  He  seem- 
ed to  know  everything — not  generally  and  in  a 
il  manner— but  particularly  and  minutely. 
It  was  not,  however)  by  making  a  parade  of  his 
knowledge  that  he  gave  us  this  impression.  He 
let  it  out  ineidently,  as  occasion  required.  If 
language  were  the  topic,  the  doctor,  by  a  few  oil- 
hand  remarks,  made  it  plain  to  us  that  he  was 
acquainted  with  almost  every  language  under  tin- 
sun.  He  spoke  English  with  an  accent  which 
partook  of  the  character  of  almost  every  modern 
tongue.  If  law  came  up,  he  could  discourse  of 
codes  ami  judgments  with  the  utmost  familiarity, 
citing  act,  chapter,  and  section,  as  if  the  whole 
study  of  his  life  had  been  law.  So  with  politics, 
history,  geology,  chemistry,  mechanics,  and  even 
medicine.  Nothing  came  amiss  to  Doctor  Goliah. 
He  was  an  animated  Cyclopedia  of  universal 
knowledge.  But  there  was  nothing  of  the  pe- 
dant about  him.  He  treated  his  learning  as  bag- 
atelle ;  he  threw  oft"  his  knowledge  as  other  peo- 
ple throw  of  jokes  :  he  was  only  serious  when  he 
mixed  a  salad,  brewed  a  bowl  of  punch,  or  played 
a  game  of  piquet.  He  was  not  at  all  proud  of 
being  able  to  translate  the  Ratcatcher's  Daughter 
into  six  languages,  including  Greek  and  Arabic  ; 
but  he  believed  he  was  the  only  man  on  the  face 
of  the  earth  who  knew  the  exact  proportions  ot 
oil  and  vinegar  requisite  for  the  proper  mixture 
of  a  potato-salad.  He  was  learned  in  the  high- 
est degree  :  yet  he  had  all  the  reckless  jollity  of 
a  schoolboy,  and  could  talk  nonsense  and  make 
sport  of  wisdom  and  philosophy  better  than  any 
of  us.  He  took  our  society  by  storm  ;  he  became 
an  oracle  ;  we  quoted  him  as  an  authority,  and 
spoke  nt"  him  as  the  doctor,  as  if  there  were  no 
other  doctor  on  the  face  of  the  earth. 

Shortly  before  the  doctor's  appearance  among  . 
us,  we,  the  members  of  the   Mutual  Admiration 
Society    had   sworn  eternal   friendship.      We  had 
vowed  ever    to  love   each    other,    ever    to  believe 

in  each  other,  ever  to  he  true  and  just  and  kind* 
Iv  towards  each  other,  and  never  to  be  estranged 
one  from  another,  either  by  prosperity  or  adver- 
sity. As  a  sign  and  symbol  of  our  brotherhood, 
we  bad  agreed  to  call  each  other  by  familiar  and 
affectionate  abbreviations  of  our  christian  nami  - ; 
and,  in  pursuance  of  this  amiable  Bcheme,  we 
bad  arranged  to  present  each  other  with  loving- 
cups.  As  we  were  a  society  of  little  wealth,  ex- 
cept in  the  matter  of  loving-kindness  and  mutual 
admiration,  it  was  resolved  that   the   cups   nhould 


33 


MRS.  LIRRIPERS  LODGINGS. 


be  fashioned  of  pewter,  of  the  measure  of  one 
quart,  and  each  with  two  handles.  The  order  was 
given,  the  loving-cups  were  made,  and  each  bore 
an  inscription  in  this  wise  :  "'To  Tom  from  Sam, 
Jack,  Will,  Ned,  Charley,  and  Harry,  a  token  of 
Friendship;"  the  inscription  being  only  varied 
as  regarded  the  relative  positions  of  donors  and 
recipient.  The  cups  were  all  ready,  and  noth- 
ing remained  to  be  done  but  to  pay  the  money  and 
bring  them  away  from  the  shop  of  our  Benvenuto 
Cellini,  which  was  situated  in  the  parish  of  St. 
Martin's-in-the-Fields.  A  delay,  however,  occur- 
red, owing  to  circumstances  which  I  need  not 
particularise  further  than  to  say,  that  they  were 
circumstances  over  which  we  had  no  control. 

The  delay,  owing  to  the  obduracy  of  these  un- 
controllable circumstances,  continued  for  some 
weeks,  when,  one  evening,  Tom  came  in  with  a 
large  brown  paper  parcel  under  his  arm.  It  was 
a  parcel  of  strange  and  unwonted  aspect. 

"Ha!  ha  !"  cried  the  doctor,  "what  have  we 
here  ?  Say,  my  Tom,  is  it  something  to  eat, 
something  to  drink,  something  perchance  to 
smoke  ?  For  in  such  things  only  doth  my  soul 
delight." 

"I  don't  believe  you  when  you  say  that,  doc- 
tor," said  Tom,  quite  seriously ;  for  Tom  had 
fallen  more  prostrate  than  any  of  us  before  the 
doctor's  great  character. 

"Not  believe  me  ?"  cried  the  doctor.  "I  mean 
it.  Man,  sir,  is  an  animal  whose  only  misfortune 
is,  that  he  is  endowed  with  the  accursed  power  of 
thinking.  If  I  were  not  possessed  by  his  evil 
spirit  of  Thought,  do  you  know  what  I  would 
do?" 

Tom  could  form  no  idea  what  he  would  do. 
"Well,  then,"  said  the  doctor,  "I  would  lie  all 
day  in  the  sun,  and  eat    potatoe-salad  out  of  a 
trough !" 

"What !  like  a  pig  ?"  Tom  exclaimed. 
"Yes,  like  a  pig,"  said  the  doctor.  "  I  never 
see  a  pig  lying  on  clean  straw,  with  his  rfnout 
poked  into  a  delightful  mess  of  barley-meal  and 
cabbage-leaves,  but  I  become  frightfully  envi- 
ous !" 

"Oh,  doctor  !"  we  all  exclaimed  in  chorus. 
"Fact.  I  say  to  myself,  How  much  better  off, 
how  much  happier  is  this  pig  than  I !  To  obtain 
my  potatoe-salad,  without  which  life  would  be  a 
blank,  I  have  to  do  a  deed  my  soul  abhors.  I 
have  to  work.  The  pig  has  no  work  to  do  for 
that  troughful  of  barley-meal  and  cabbage-leaves. 
Because  I  am  an  animal  endowed  with  power  of 
thought  and  reason,  I  was  sent  to  school  and 
taught  to  read.  See  what  misfortune,  what  mis- 
ery, that  has  brought  upon  me!  You  laugh,  but  I 
am  driven  to  read  books,  and  pai-liamentary  de- 
bates, and  leading  articles?-    I  was   induced   the 


other  day  to  attend  a  social     congress.     If  I  had 
been  a  pig,  I  should  not  have  had  to  endure  that." 
''Ah,  but,  doctor,"  said  Tom,   ''the  pig  has  no 
better  part." 
•    The  doctor  burst  into  a  yell  of  exultation.' 

"What!  The  pig  no  better  part?  Ha!  ha' 
Sir,  the  better  part  of  a  pig  is  pork.  The  butcher 
comes  to  ine,  and  to  the  pig  alike ;  but  what 
remains  of  me  when  he  has  done  his  fell  work  ? 
You  put  me  in  a  box  and  screw  me  down,  and  stow 
me  away  out  of  sight;  and  you  pretend  to  grieve 
forme.  But  the  pig — you  eat  him,  and  rejoice 
in  earnest !  And  that  reminds  me  that  I  shall  have 
a  pork-chop  for  supper.  By  the  way,  is  it  a  let- 
tuce you  have  in  that  paper  parcel,  Tom  ?" 
"It  is  not  a  lettuce,  doctor." 
"Not  a  lettuce  !  Ha!  I  see  something  glitter 
— precious  metal — gold?  no,  silver!  to  obtain 
which,  in  a  commensurate  quantity,  I  would  com- 
mit ci-imes — murder !" 

"Oh,  doctor,"  said  Tom,  "you  are  giving  your- 
self a  character  which  you  don't  deserve." 

"Ami?"  said  the  doctor.  You  don't  know 
me.  And  after  all,  what  is  murder?  Nothing. 
You  kill  two  or  three  of  your  fellow -creatures — a 
dozen,  for  that  matter;  what  then?  There  are 
plenty  more.  Do  you  know  what  is  the  population 
of  the  earth?  I  will  tell  you.  Exactly  one  thou- 
sand three  hundred  millions  eight  hundred  and 
ninety-nine  thousand  six  hundred  and  twenty 
souls.  'How  many  murders  are  committed  in  the 
course  of  a  year  do  you  imagine  ?  You  think  only 
those  you  read  of  in  the  newspapers.  Bah!  An 
intimate  knowledge  of  the  subjeet  enables  me  to 
inform  you  that  the  number  of  murders  committed" 
in  Great  Britain  and  Ireland,  and  the  Channel 
Islands,  annually  amounts  to  fifteen  thousand  sev- 
en hundred  and  forty -five.  It-is  one  of  the  laws 
of  nature  for  keeping  down  the  population.  Every 
man  who  commits  a  murder  obeys  this  law." 

Tom'shair  was  beginning  to  stand  on  end,  for 
the  doctor  said  all  this  with  a  terrible  fierceness 
of  manner.  His  strange  philosophy  was  not  with- 
out its  effect  upon  the  rest  of  us.  We  had  been 
accustomed  to  a  good  deal  of  freedom  in  our  dis- 
cussions, but  we  had  never  ventured  upon  any- 
thing so  audacious  as  this. 

"Com.e,  Tom,"  said  the  doctor,  "unveil  your 
treasure,  and  let  me  see  if  it  be  worth  my  while 
lying  in  wait  for  you  in  the  dark  lanes  as  you  go 
home  to-night." 

"Well,  no,  it  isn't  doctor,"  said  Tom,  "for  the 
article  is  only  of  pewter."  And  Tom  uncovered 
his  loving-cup.  Circumstances  had  relented  in 
Tom's  case,  and  he  had  gone  and  paid  for  his  own 
loving-cup. 

"Pewter  !"  said  the  doctor.  "Bah  !  it  is  not 
worth  my  while;  but  if  it  had  been   silver,  now, 


MRS.   LIRRIPERS   LODGINGS. 


33 


why  then  I  might "     And  the  doctor   put  on 

a  diabolical  expression,  that  seemed  to  signify 
highway  robbery  accompanied  with  violence,  and 
murder  followed  by  immediate  dissection.  Pres- 
ently the  doctor  noticed  the  inscription  "Ha! 
ha!"  he  said,  "what  is  this?"  An  inscription! 
'To  Tom,  from  Sam,  Jack,  Will,  Ned,  Charley, 
and  Harry — a  token  of  Friendship.'  Friendship! 
Ha!  ha!  'tis  but  a  name,  an  empty  name,  a 
mockery,  a  delusion,  and  a  snare.  I  tell  you 
there  is  no  such  thing  in  the  world." 

"Oh,  don't  say  that,  doctor!"  cried  Tom, 
looking  quite  hurt. 

''Ah,  returned  the  doctor,  "you  will  find  it  out. 
I  have  always  found  it  out  ;  and  since  I  formed 
my  first  friendship  and  was  deceived — it  is  now  — 
let  me  see  how  many  years  ? — one  thousand  eight 
hundred  and — but  no  matter." 

The  doctor  paused,  as  if  oppressed  with  painful 
recollections. 

"Ned,"  said  Sam,  leaning  accross    to  n.. 
you  know  what  1  think  the  doctor  is  1" 

"No,"  1  said. 

"Well,"  he  said,  "hang'd  if  I  don't  think  he  is 
the  Wandering  Jew.     Look  at  his  hoots  '" 

1  looked  at  his  boots.'  They  were  not  neat 
boots  :   that  was  all  I    perceived  about  them. 

"Don't  you  observe,"  said  Sam,  "how  flat   and 

.  down  they  are?     The'  doctor  has  done  a 

deal  of  walking  in  those  hoots.  Mark  their  strange 

and  ancient  shape !     Look  at  the  dust  upon  them 

— it  is  the  dust,  of  centuries  !" 

The  doctor  was  roaring  with  laughter  at  the 
idea  of  our  mutual  presentation  scheme,  and  was 
calling  us  "innocents,"   and    Tom's    loving  cup  a 

Tom  was  getting  red  in  the  face  and  looking 
ashamed.      In    fact, We   were    all    looking  rather 

h;   for  it  had   never  struck     us  until   now, 
Uy  and  sentimental  we  all  were.       \\ 
nothing  to  the  doctor  about    the  six  other  loving- 
cups  that  were  waiting  to  be  paid  for  and   claim- 
ed ;  and  when  Tom,  with  a  face  as  red  as  a  coal, 

I  up  his  "mug"  as  the  d  I  it  and 

put  it  away,  lubject, 

i"-1ro:n  oox  m       We   were  so 

thoroughly  ashamed  of  ourselves,  thai  We  i 
ed  to  redeem  <mr  characters  in  the  eyes 
doctor,  l'\  pi  into  any  depth  of 

cynical  opinion  thai  he  choose  to  sound.    And  the 

lie   VI   IV 

i  of  the  pit  of  cynii  tened  to 

him,  and  held  converse  with  him  d 
■  v  very   green    an 
cated  we.  had  all  been.      We   came    to   ki- 

•  1  heroes  w  bora   w  ibipped 

jj   but  humbugs    ami  pn  I 

m  we  had  believed  in  and 


admired,  were  blunderers  or  traitors;  that  the 
mighty  potentates  whose  power  and  sagacity  we 
had  extolled,  were' tyrannical  miscreants,  or  pup-r 
pets  in  the  hands  of  others  ;  that  the  philanthro- 
pists whom  all  men  praised,  were  conceited  self- 
seeking  hypocrites ;  that  the  patriots  whose 
names  we  had  reverenced  in  common  with  all  the 
world,  were  scoundrels  of  tho  deepest  dye.  The 
doctor's  influence  led  us  on  insensibly,  step  by 
Step,  How  cotdd  we  resist  it  ?  It  was  a  fas- 
cination. Ho  knew  everything,  could  prove  ev- 
erything, and  had  such  a  stove  of  facts  that  we  had 
never  heard  of  in  support  of  his  conclusions,  that 
it  was  impossible,  with  our  limited  knowledge, 
to  withstand  him.  We  were  shocked  at  first ;  but, 
as  the  revolution  proceeded,  we  got  used  to  the 
sight  of  blood,  and  saw  the  heads  of  our  heroes 
fall  with  r fie  utmost  indifference.  At  length  we 
came  to  revel  in  it,  and  sought  for  new  victims, 
that  we  might,  demolish  them,  and  do  our  despite 
upon  them.  Tho  doctor  led  the  way  more  bold- 
ly as  we  advanced.  He  hinted  darkly  at  crimes 
in  which  he  had  had  a  hand,  and  at  crimes  which 
he  would  yet  commit  when  the  opportunity  arriv- 
ed. Whenever  a-  murder  was  committed,  the 
doctor  was  the  friend  and  advocate  of  the  murder- 
er, and  vowed  fierce  vengeance  against  thejudge 
and  jury  who  condemned  him  to  be  hanged. 
When  news  of  war  and  disaster  came,'  he  rubbed 
his  hands  and  gloated  over  it  with  glee,  because 
he  had  prophesied  what  would  happen  through 
the  imbecility  and  treason  of  infamous  scoundrels 
who  called  themselves  statesmen  and  generals. 

From  a  Mutual  Admiration  Society  we  became 
a  society  of  iconoclasts.  Tom  and  Jack,  ami 
Sam  and  Harry,  and  the  rest  of  us,  whoha<l 
by  swearing  eternal  friendship,  were  now  bitter 
disputants,  despising  each  other's  mental  qualities, 
calling  each  other  duffers  behind  each  other's 
backs,  and  laughing  all  the  old  modest  preten- 
sions to  scorn.  The  loving-cups  had  faded  out  of 
memory.  I  passed  the  shop  of  our  Beavenuto 
Cellini,  the  pewterer,  one  day, and  saw  the  whole 
six  exposed  in  the  window  for  sale.  1  called 
upon  Tom,  to  show  him  an  article  d< 
popular  author  whom  we  had  once  idolised,  ami  I 
noticed  his  loving-cup  stowed  away  under  the 
table  with  a  waste-paper-basket  and  a  spittoon.  It 
wn  dull  and  lie  a  publie-house 

pot,  and  was    filled     with  short  black     pipes,  and 
rs,  and  rubbish.    1  kick- 
ed it  playfully  with  my  foot, and  laughed;   and  Tom 
4 

Our  society,  in  its  new  form,  prospered    *\ 
ingly.     '■  famous  for  the  freedom  of  our 

•  ;>iniun».  We  spent 
all  our  leisure  hour-  I  int  dis- 

cussion kopt  us  in  a  constant  state  of  menial  intox- 


24 


MRS.  LIRRIPERS  LODGINGS. 


ication.     But  a  sober  moment  Arrived. 

Tom  and  I  sat  together,  one  gloomy  day,  alone. 
We  were  solemn  and  moody,  and  smoked  in  si- 
lence.    At  length  Tom  said  : 

"Ned,  I  passed  the  shop  to-day,  and  saw  those 
six  loving-cups  in  the  window." 

I  replied,  fretfully,  "liotherthe  loving-cups  .'" 
"No,"  said  Tom   "I  have  other  thoughts  at  this 
present  moment  ;   I  have  had  them  often,  but  have 
smothered  them— smothered  them  ruthlessly,  Ned; 
but   they  have  always  come  to  life  aeain.     They 
are  very  lively  to-night — owing, perhaps,  to  thefog, 
or  the  state  of  my  liver,  or  the  state  of  my  con- 
science— and  I  can't  smother  them." 
"What do  you  mean, Tom?" 
"You  remember  when  we  ordered  the  cups  ?" 
"Yes." 

'The  doctor  came  among  us  shortly  afterwards?' 
"He  did." 

"And  we  didn'tcarry  out  our  intention." 
"No.     You  paid  for  yours,  Tom,  and  brought  it 
away,  but  the  rest  are  still  unredeemed  pledges  of 
affection." 

"Exactly,"  said  Tom  ;  "and  that  was  owing  to 
the  doctor.  He  laughed  at  us.  He  made  us  asham- 
ed of  ourselves.  He  made  me  ashamed  of  my- 
self. But  I  had  paid  for  my  cup,  and  brought  it 
away,  and  the  thing  was  done.  If  I  had  not  done 
it  when  I  did,  I  should  never  have  done  it.  What 
were  we  ashamed  of?" 
"Silliness,"  I  said. 

"No,    kindness   and   good  feeling,    which    we 
can't  have  too  much  ofdt  in  this  short  journey." 
I  did  not  answer.     Tom  went  on. 
"This  doctor  has  upset  us  all.   He  has  changed 
our  nature.     He  has  turned  the  milk  of   human 
kindness  that  was  in    us,  sour.     He  is  a  very  fas- 
cinating person,  I  grant ;  but   who  is  he  ?      None 
of  us  know.     He   came    among   us  mysteriously  i 
we  accepted  him  without  question.    Yet  we  don't 
know  any  thing  about  him.  We  don't  know  what 
he  is ;  what    ne    does ;  where  he  lives  ;  or  even 
what  country  he  belongs  to." 
"Well  ?" 

"Well,  I  sometimes  think  he  is  the  devil.  He 
is  very  plea'sant,  but  he  is  diabolical  in  all  his 
views  and  opinions,  nevertheless.  If  he  is  not  the 
devil,  he  has,  at  any  rate,  played  the  devil  with 
us.  I  feel  it  at  quiet  moments  like  these,  when 
we  are  not  excited  and  bandying  flippant  jokes 
and  unbelieving  sarcasms." 

I  smoked  for  a  few  moments  in  silence,  and  I 
then  said  : 

"1  feel  it,  too,  exactly  as  you  do,  Tom.  I  have 
wished  to  say  so  often,  only — only  I  didn't  like." 

"Ned  that  is  exactly  what  I  have  felt.     Suppose 
we  take  courage  now." 
"Suppo-'.'  we  do,"  I  said. 


"Very  well,  then,"  said  Tom.  "Let  us  find  out 
who  this  Doctor  Goliath  is,  what  he  is,  and  all 
about  him." 

Tom  had  scarcely  said  the  word»  when  the  doc- 
tor came  in.  He  had  a  small  bag  in  his  hand,  and 
a  parcel  under  his  arm. 

"lam  not  going  to  stay  this  evening,"  he  said. 
"I  have  work  to  do — work  that  the  world  will 
hearof.  Ha?"  And  he  contracted  his  brows  dark- 
ly, and  laid  his  finger  on  his  nose  in'  a  portentous 
manner.  • 

"Good  night,"  he  said  ;  "if  I  survive,  well  and 
good ;  if  not,  remember  me — but  as  to  that,  I 
don't  imagine  for  a  moment  that  you  will  do  any 
thing  of  the  sort.  You  will  say  'poor  wretch,'  and 
then  go  on  with  your  jokes  and  sport.  'Tis  the 
way  of  this  vile  world,  which  has  been  a  huge 
mistake  from  the  beginning.     Farewell." 

"Ned,"  said  Tom,  "let  us  follow  him." 

We  did  so.  We  followed  him  into  the  Strand 
and  on  to  the  bridge,  where  he  had  an  altercation 
with  the  toll-keeper.  We  could  hear  the  words 
"swindle,"  "imposition,"  "highway  robbery;"  and 
we  saw  the^doctor's  face  under  the  lamp  glaring 
savagely  at  tho  man.  At  length  he  flung  down 
his  halfpenny,  and  walked  hurriedly  on,  but  stop- 
ped abruptly  at  the  first  recess,  turned  into  it.  and 
looked  over  the  parapet  at  the  river.  We  had 
long  seriously  entertained  the  suspicion — among 
many  others  of  a  like  kind — that  the  doctor  knew 
something  about  the  mysterious,  and  yyet  undis- 
covered, murder,  which  is  associated  with  that 
spot.     He  had  hinted  at  itoften. 

"Look!"  said  Tom.  "Fascination  draws  him 
to  the  scene  of  his  crime. — I  almost  wish  he  would 
throw  himself  over." 

But  the  doctor  did  no  such  thing.  After  looking 
,jown  at  the  river  for  a  few  moments,  he  leaped  off 
the  stone  ledge,  and  passed  on.  We  followed  at  a 
safe  distance,  and  kepthim  in  sight  through  a  great 
many  narrow  and  gloomy  streets,  where  our  only 
guide  was  the  dark  figure  moving  like  a  shadow 
before  us.  At  length  the  doctor  turnedup  a  nar- 
row passage,  and  disappeared.  We  ran  forward 
to  the  entrance,  but  the  passage  was  completely 
dark,  and  we  could  see  nothing.  We  hesitated  for 
a  moment,  but  immediately  summoned  up  courage 
andfollowed.gropingourway  in  the  dark  with  the 
assistance  of  the  wall.  On  coming  out  at  the  other 
end  of  this"  dark  tunnel,  we  found  ourselves  in  a 
triangular  court  lighted  by  a  single  gas-lamp  pla- 
ced at  the  apex  of  the  triangle.  There  seemed  to 
be  no  entrace  to  it  save  the  narrow  passage  through 
which  we  had  passed.  All  these  strange  and  myste- 
rious characteristics  of  the  place  we  were  enabled 
to  see  at  aglance,  by  theaid  of  the  one  gas  lamp 
that  stood  like  a  mark  of  admiration  in  the  corner. 
I  And  that  glance  took  in  the  cloudy  figure  of  the 


MRS.   LIRRIPER'S  LO&GIHGS 

doctor  standing  ara  door  in  the  darkest  nook  of 
the  court,  knocking.  He  was  admitted  before  we 
reached  the  spot,  hut  we  bad  marked  the  house.  Ii 
was  Dumber  thirteen. 

"An  ogglesome  number,"  said  Tom.  And  there 
was  an  Ogglesome  plaster  head  over  the  doorway — 
a  head)  witli  a  leer  upon  its  fare,  and  a  reckoning- 
up  expression, just  like  the  doctor's.  It  seemed  to 
he  laughing  at  the  fool's  errand  we  had  come 
upon. 

I  said, "What  are  we  to  do  now  ?" 

'"Well,  really,  I  don't  know,"  said  Tom. 

"8top»"  I  cried;  "I  see  a  bill  in  the  window. 
What  does  it  say  ?" 

Tom  suggested,  "Mangling  done,"  as  being 
niest  appropriate  to  a  house  inhabited  by  Doctor 
Goliath. 

But  it  was  not  mangling.  It  was  "Lodgings  to 
I.i  t  tor  a  Single  Gentleman." 

us  knock,"  I  said,  "and  inquire  about  the 
lodgings,  and  ascertain  what  sort  of  a  place  it  is." 

\\  i'  saw  a  light  pass  in  the  first  floor.  That  was 
evidently  the  doctor's  room,  and  he  had  gone  up- 
stairs. We  waited  a  little,  find  then  knocked. 
The  door  was  opened  by  an  elderly  lady  of  ex- 
ceedingly benignant  aspect,  who  wore  the  rem- 
nant of  a  smile  upon  her  face.  The  smile  was 
evidently  not  intended  lor  us,  hut  we  took  it  as  if 
it  were,  and  reciprocated  with  a  smiling  inquiry 
about  the  lodgings.  Would  we  step  in  and  look 
at  them  ?  They  were  two  rooms  downstairs  ■  ,i 
■itting-room  andabed-room.  Asthe  elderly  lady, 
with  a  candle  in  her  hand,  was  leading  the  way 
along  tl  the  doctor  called  Antra  above, 

''Mrs.  Mavor,  I  want  yon  here   directly." 

use  me  a  moment,  gentlemen,"  said  Mrs. 
Mavor;  "the  doctor,  my  first-floor  lodger,  has  just 
come  in,  and  wants  his  coffee.  Pray  take  a  seat  in 
the  parlour," 

Mrs.  Mavor  left  us,  and  went  upstairs,  and  the 
next  moment  we  beard  the  doctor  saying  in  loud 
and   tngr}  tones  : 

"Where   is  my    spider?      How  dire  yon 
away  my  spider  with  your  mui  •ml" 

"Oh,  the  nasty  thing!"   «^.    bear  Mr* 

<o  say,  but  the  doctor  would  not  let  her 
speak. 

•v  thine!     That's yottr  opiniot        W 
you  sup]  /,  when 

vou  r"  -  in  the 

like  it? 
Jit  to  live 
asyou  have;   more— more!       He  \. 
which;.  be  had   a  large  fantilj 

port,  which]  n<J  a  net 

1 

do  for  t 


35 

Mrs.  Mavor." 

Mrs.  Mavor  came  down  almost  immediately, 
laughing. 

"That's  my  first-floor  lodger,  Doctor  Goliath," 
she  said;  "he  has  strange  ways  in  some  things,  and 
pretends  10  get  in  an  awful  temper  if  anv  one 
touches  his  pets  ;  but  he  issuch  a  good  kind  soul  !'■ 

Tom  and  I  began  to  stare. 

"Hehas  been  with  me  now  over  seven  years," 
Mrs.  Mavor  continued,  "and  he  has  behaved  so 
well  to  me,  and  as  been  so  kind  to  me  when  I  have 
been  ill,  that  nothing  should  induce  me  to  take  any 
person  into  the  house  that  might  disturb  him  or  put 
him  out  of  his  ways.  If  the  doctor  w  ere  to  leave 
Povie-place,  I  am  sure  I  don' t  know  what  all  the 
neighbours  and  the  poor  people  about  here  would 
do  :  tor  he  doctors  them  when  they  are  ill,  and 
he  advises  them  when  they  are  well,  and  he 
writes  letters  for  them,  and  gets  up  subscriptions 
for  them  when  there's  any  misfortune ;  and  the 
children  they're  wild  alter  him  !  Verv  often 
you'll  see  him  here  in  the  place,  when  he  has 
been  the  gentlest  and  best  of  friends  to  their 
fathers  and  mothers,  playing  games  with  them, 
and  a  score  of  romping  hoys  and  girls  on  the  top 
of  his  back — hut  he  don't  mind  ;  he's  so  good 
I,  and  so  fond  of  children  !" 

Tom  and  I  were  opening  our  eyes  wider  and 
wider.  The  doctor  called  again  :  "  Mrs.  Mavor, 
bring  me  a  ball  of  worsted,  and  let  it  be  nice 
and  soft." 

Mr*.  Mavor  went  up  stairs  with  the  wor»ted, 
and  came  back  smiling. 

"  He  has  got  his  dumb  pets  around  him  now," 
she  said,  "and  one  of  them  has  had  an  accident, 
and  he  can't  bear  to  see  the  poor  creature  suf- 
fer.    He  is  so  tender-hearted  !n 

Tom  and  I  were  spe<  '-bless.  The  doctor's  pen, 
what  could  they  he  1      Imps  ? 

I  said  to  Mrs.  Mavor,  that  we  had  heard  of 
Doctor  Goliath,  that  he  was  a  very  learned  and 
skilful  man,  and  that  we  would  like  to  have  a 
peep  at  him,  if  she  would  permit  us.  Mrs.  Mb. 
vor  hesitated.  He  would  be  angry,  she  said,  if 
he  knew  it.  We  j»"i  it  upon  our  admiration  for 
,  and  she    •  t  we  were  only 

through  the  door,  and  were  not  to  make 

We  went  up  stairs  quietly  to  the  doctor's  land- 
's ajar,  and  we  oould^SM  near- 
ly half  the  ro..m  through    the  crack,  without  be- 
:..      If  it  had    been    possible  to  open   our 
my  wider,  we  should  have   done  it  now. 
For,  ■  it  a  table  on  which 

his  tea-J 

ed    upon    his   head,  a  kitten    was  sporting  st   his 
feet,  and   he  himself  was  occupied    in  binding  up 


■M 


M  RS.  LIRRIPERS  LODGINGS. 


"  Poor  little  tiling !"  he  Mas  saying.  "I  am 
so  sorry,  so  sorry ;  but  never  mind.  There, 
there  !  I  will  bind  up  its  poor  little  leg,  and  it 
will  get  well  and  run  about  as  nicely  as  ever. — 
Ah,  little  cat;  now  you  know  what  I  told  you 
about  that  canary-bird.  If  you  kill  that  canary- 
bird,  I  shall  kill  you.  That  is  the  law  of  Mose^, 
little  cat:  it  is  a  cruel  law,  I  think,  but  I  am 
afraid  I  should  have  to  put  it  in  force;  for  I 
love- that  little  bird,  and  I  love  you,  too,  little 
cat,  so  you  will  not  kill  my  pretty  canary,  will 
you  ?  Sweet,  sweet  !  And  the  bird,  perched 
upon  the  doctor's  head,  was  answering  "Sweet, 
sweet .'" 

Mrs.  Mavor  was  behind  us,  calling  to  us  in  a 
loud  whisper  to  come  away.  We  astonished  Mrs. 
Mavor  and  her  lodger  both.  We  walked  right 
into  the  doctor's  room. 

He  started  at  the  sound  of  our  footsteps  ;  and 
when  he  saw  us  he  turned  pale  with  anger. 

"What  means  this — this  unwarrantable — this 
impertinent  intrusion  ?" 

He  poured  such  a  volley  of  angry  words  upon 
us  that  we  were  confused,  and  scarcely  knew  how 
to  act.  I  saw  that  the  only  course  was  to  take 
the  bull  by  the  horns. 

"  Doctor,"  I  said,  "you  are  an  old  humbug." 

"  What  do  you  mean ;  what  do  you  mean, 
sir?      How  dare  you  !"  returned  the  doctor. 

"And  I  say  so  too,"  struck  in  the  mild  Tom,  who 
had  never  before  been  known  to  speak  so  bold  ; 
doctor,  you  are  an  old  humbug." 

"Well,  upon;  my  word,"  said  the  doctor,  "the 
audacity  of  the  proceeding " 

"Who  taught  us  to  be  audacious,  doctor?' 
Tom  asked,  before  he  could  finish  a  sentence. 

The  doctor  gave  way.  He  laughed,  and  he 
looked  sheepish — as  sheepish  as  we  had  looked 
when  he  discovered  our  loving-cup  scheme.  He 
scarcely  knew  what,  to  say,  and  he  put  on  a  fierce 
look  again,  and  called  Mrs.  Mavor. 

"How  dare  you  allow  strangers  to  enter  my 
room  in  this  manner  ?  Take  that  bird  and  that 
mischievous  cat  and  that  nasty  guinea  pig  away, 
directly." 

"It's  of  no  use,  doctor,'"  said  Tom;  "we  have 
found  you  out,  and  you  can't  deceive  us  any  more. 
I  have  thought  until  now  that  you  were  an  incar- 
nate fiend,  but  I  find  that  you  belong  to  the 
other  side."  Tom  evidently  meant  that  the  Hoc- 
tor  was  a  sort  of  angel,  but  he  did  not  use  the 
v\  oid;  being  probably  struck  with  the  incongruity 
of  associating  an  angelic  embodiment  with  a 
wide-awake  hat  and  Blucher  boots. 

The  doctor  laughed  :  which  encouraged  Tom  to 
address  a  moral  lesson,  on  the  doctor's  conduct, 
to  Mrs.  Mavor. 

"To  all  of  us,  Mrs.  Mavor,  he  has  made  him- 
self out  a  .uuuoiicui  person  :  ierce,  bloodthirsty, 


cruel.  We  had  made  a  litjffe  Paradise  among 
ourselves,  and  he  entered  it,  like  the  beguiling 
serpent,  and  made  us  all  wicked  and  unhappy. 
What  did  he  do  it  for  ?" 

.  Mrs.  Mavor,  seeing  that  the  doctor  was  getting 
the  worst  of  it,  plucked  up  courage  and  spoke 
out.  "He  does  it  everywhere  beyond  the  boun- 
daries of  Povis-place,  and  I'll  tell  you  what  he 
does  it  for.  He  is  ashamed  of  being  good,  and 
kind,  and  tender-hearted .'" 

"A  pretty  thing  to  be  ashamed  of,"  said  Tom. 

"  I've  half  a  mind  to  punch  his  head  !" 

"  No,  don't,"  said  the  doctor,  laughing.  "Sit 
down  and  have  a  cup  of  coffee,  and  then  Mrs. 
Mavor  will  come  and  join  us  in  a  game  of  whist, 
and  we'll  have  a  potato-salad  for  supper,  and 
I'll  brew  such  a  bowl  of  punch  as  I  flatter  my- 
self no  man  on  the  face  of  the  earth  besides  my- 
self  " 

"Doctor,"  said  Tom  again,  "you're  a  hum- 
bug." 

We  told  all  to  the  society,  and  the  next  time 
the  doctor  came  among  us  at  Mrs.  Lirriper'g 
here,  he  was  received  with  shouts  of  derisive 
welcome. 

The  doctor  gave  a  party  in  Povis-place,  and 
we  were  all  invited.  There  was  so  much  victuals, 
there  were  so  many  bottles  of  German  wine,  and 
there  was  so  large  a  number  of  guests,  that  Mrs. 
Mavor's  small  tenement  was  in  some  danger  of 
bursting.  If  I  remember  rightly,  the  provisions 
were  on  the  scale  of  a  ham  and  two  fowls  and  a 
dozen  of  hocheimer,  to  each  guest:  to  say  no- 
thing of  the  potato-salad,  which  was  made  in  a 
bran  new  wash-hand  basin,  purchased  for  the 
occasion. 

And  after  6uppev  there  was  a  presentation. 
The  loving-cups  has  been  redeemed;  and  one 
more  was  added  to  the.  number;  and  there  they 
were,  all  bright  and  glittering — having  been  rub- 
"bed  expressly  for  the  occasion — in  -a  row  upon 
the  table.  And  the  extra  one  was  inscribed,  "To 
the  Doctor,  from  Tom,  Ned,  Sam,  Will,  Jack, 
Charley  and  Hairy,  a  Token  of  Friendship  and 
Esteem." 

Though  our  old  heroes  and  idols  are  all  set  up 
on  their  pedestals  long  ago,  Major,  we  are  still 
given  to  cynical  and  audacious  .talk  in  our  society, 
which  is  still  held  in  my  room  here.  But  it  de- 
ceives no  one;  and  when  the  doctor  tries  to  be 
fierce.he  blushes  at  the  feeble  and  foolish  attempt 
he  is  making  to  conceal  the  tenderness  of  the 
kindest  heart  that  ever  beat. 


IV. 

HOW    THE    SECOND    FLOOR  KEPT  A   DOG. 

Mrs.  Lirriper   rather  objects   to  dogs,   you 
say,  Major?     Very  natural  in   a  London   house. 


MRS.   LIRRIPER'S  LODGINGS. 

Shall  I  tell  you  why  I  hope  she  will  not  object  t< 
my  dog,  Major?     Help  yourself.     So  I  will. 

"Ah,  but,  to  goodness,  look  you,  will  her 
bite 7"  exclaimed  an  old  Welshwoman,  as  she 
pulled  her  big  hat  further  on  her  head,  and  look- 
ed askance  at  the  Big  black  dog  which  the  man 
sitting  next  her  had  just  hauled  on  to  the  coach, 
roof. 

"It  isn't  a  her,  and  he  won't  bite,"  was  th^ 
sententious  reply  of  the  dog's  master. 

Not  a  pleasant-looking  man,  this;  tall  and  thin, 
whiskcrless  and  sallow  faced ;  his  head  looking 
more  like  a  bladder  of  lard  surmounted  by  u 
scratch-wig,  than  anything  human  :  dressed  all 
in  black,  with  a  Stiff  shiny  hat.  beaver  gloves,  and 
thick  lustreless  Wellington  boots.  He  had 
enormous  collars  encircling  his  face  and  growing 
peakedly  out  of  a  huge  black  silk  cravat;  he  had 
a  black  satin  waistcoat  and  a  silver  watch- 
guard,  and  an  umbrella  in  a  shiny  oilskin  case, 
and  a  hard  slippery  cold  black  cowskin  bag, 
with  .1.  M.  upon  it  in  staring  white  letters;  and 
he  looked  vi  ry  much  like  what  he  was — Mr. 
John  Mortiboy,  junior  partner  in  the  house  of 
Crump  and  Mortiboy,  Manchester  warehouse- 
man, Friday-street,  Oheapside,  London. 

What  brought  Mr.  John  Mortiboy  into  Wales 
to  spend  his  holidays, or  what  induced  such  a  pillar 
of  British  commerce  to  encumber  himself  with  a 
dog,  is  no  business  of  ours,  Major.  All  I  know, 
is,  that  he  had  been  set  down  at  the  Barberth- 
road  station,  had  dragged  the  black  cowskin  bag 
from  under  his  seat,  had  released  \\\  dog  from 
a  square  bare  receptacle  which  the  animal  had 
filled  with  howls,  and  had  mounted  himself  and 
his  dog  on  to  the  top  of  the  coach  travelling 
toward*  the  little  watering-place  of  Penetbty, 
The  dog,  a  bjg  black  retriever,  lay  on  the  COaoh- 
roof  with  his  fine  head  erect,  now  gazing  round 
the  landscape,  now  dropping  his  cold  muzzle 
between  his  paws  and  taking  snatches  of  sleep 
His  master  sat  on  the  extreme  edge  of  the  seat, 
with  one  Wellington  boot  very  much  displayed 
and  dangling  in  the  air,  and  he,  the  Welling- 
ton boot's  owner,  apparently  deriving  mucb  en- 
joy ment  from  the  suction  of  his  umbrella-handle, 
his  big  eyes  round  him  now  and  then  at 
Certain  portions  of  the  scenery  pointed  out  bv 
the  coachman,  and  expressed  his  opinion  that  it 
was  "handsome,"  but  b-yond  that  never  vmjr.h- 
snfedaword  until  the  coach  drew  up  nl  the  |{,iyol 
Inn  at  Penethly,  when  he  went  at  one  round  to 
■les  and  superintended  the  preparation  of 
a  meal  for  bis  dog,  then  ordered  a  "point 
well  bent,  potatoes,  nnd  a  pint  of  sherry,"  to  be 
ready  for  him  in  an  hour's  time;  inquired  the 
way  to  Albion  Villa;  and  set  off  for  Albion  Villa 
accompanied  bv  his  dog  Beppo. 


37 

I  don't  think  Mr.  John  Mortiboy  was  much 
wanted  at  Albion  Villa,  nor  that  he  was  exactly 
the  kind  of  man  who  would  have  suited  its  in. 
mates.  They  were  little  conscious  of  tie*  ap- 
proach of  his  hard  creaking  boots,  striding  over 
the  ill-paved  High-street  of  the  little  town,  and 
were  enjoying  themselves  after  their  own  simple 
fashion.  The  blinds  were  down,  the  candles 
were  lighted,  nnd  Mrs.  Barford  was  pretending 
to  be  knitting,  but  really  enjoying  a  placid  sleep; 
fiilon,  her  eldest  daughter,  was  reading  a  mag- 
azine; Kate,  her  youngest,  was  making  some 
sketches  under  the  observant  tuition  of  a  slim 
gentleman  with  a  light  beard,  who  apparently 
took  the  greatest  interest  in  his  pupil.  Upon 
this  little  group  the  clang  of  the  gate  bell,  the 
creaking  of  Mr.  John  Morfiboy's  boots,  and 
the  strident  tones  of  Mr.  John  Mortiboy's  voice, 
fell  uncomfortable.  "Say  Mr.  John  Mortiboy,  of 
London,"  he  exclaimed, while  yet  in  the  little  pas- 
sage outside.  The  startled  Welsh  servant  having 
obeyed  him,  he  followed  close  upon  her  heels  into 
the  room. 

"Servant,  ladies!"  said  he,  with  a  short  circu- 
lar nod,  "servant,  Mrs.  Barford  7  Best  to  explain 
matters  wholesale.  You  wonder  who  I  am. 
You're  sister-in-law  to  my  uncle,  Jonas  Crump. 
I'm  my  uncle's  partner  in  Friday-street.  Done  too 
much;  rather  baked  i:i  the  head — heavy  con- 
signments and  sitting  up  late  at  niirht  poring 
over  ligures.  The  doctor  recommended  change 
of  air;  uncle  Crump  recommended  Penethly, 
and  mentioned  you.  I  came  down  here,  and 
have  taken  the  liberty  of  calling.  Down,  Beppo! 
Don't  mind  him,  miss,  he  wont  hurt  you." 

"Oh!  Pin  Aot afraid  of  the  dog!"  said  Ellen, 
with  a  slight  start  at  Mr.  Mortiboy's  genera] 
manner,  and  at  his  calling  her  "Miss."  hide 
looked  on  in  wonder,  nnd  the  slim  gentleman 
with  the  light  beard  confided  to  tho  said  beard 
the  word  "Brute." 

W.'re — very — pleased  to  see  you,  Mr.  Mor- 
tiboy," said  Mrs.  Bnrford,  "and — and  hope  that 
you  will  soon  recover  your  health  in  our  quiet 
village.  I'm  sure  anything  thafwe  enn — can  do 
— my  daughters,  Miss  Ellen,  Miss  Kat  ■  B 
a    friend   of  ours,     Mr.     Sandham— w«*  shall   be 

tppy  to "     Ah  Mrs.   Harford's  voice 

died  away  in  the  contemplation  of  the  happiness 
before  her,  tm>  young  ladies  nnd  Mr.  Sandham 
bowed,  nnd  Mr.  Mortiboy  favoured  them  with  a 
series  of  short  nods.  Then  he  said,  abruptly 
turning  to  the  slim  gentleman,  "In  the  army, 
sir  7" 

>ir.   I  nm  not!"   retorted    the  slim   gen- 
tleman, with  great  promptitude. 

"Beg  pardon,  no  offence!  Volunteer,  peP- 
hiip".?      Hair,  you  know,  beard,  *t   c#x»xh,   mad« 


.« 


me  think  you  were  in  the   military  line 
young  gents  now  a-days  are  volunteers  !" 

"Mr.  Sandham  is  an  artist,"  said  Mrs.  Bar-, 
ford,  interposing  in  dread  lest  there  should  be  an 
outbreak. 

"Oh  ah!"  said  Mr.  Mortiboy.  "Bad  trade 
that — demand  not  equal  to  supply,  is  it  ?  Too 
many  hands  employed  ;  barely  bread  and  cheese, 
I'm  told,  for  any  but  the  top-sawyers." 

"Sir!"  said  Mr.  Sandham,  in  a  loud  tone  of 
voice,  and  fiercely. 

"Edward!"  said  Miss  Kate,  beneath  her 
breath,  appealingly. 

"Won't  you  take  some  refreshment,  Mr.  Mor- 
tiboy?" asked  Mrs.  Barford,  warningly.  "We're 
just  going  to  supper." 

"No,  thank  you,  mam,"  said  Mr.  Mortiboy. 
"I've  a  steak  and  potatoes  waiting  for  me  at  the 
Royal,  after  which  I  shall  turn  it  at  orice,  as  I'm 
done  up  by  my  journey.  Good  night,  ladies  all  ! 
Good  night  to  you,  sir!  I'll  look  you  up  to- 
morrow morning,  and  if  any  of  you  want  to  go  for 
a  turn,  I  shall  be  proud  to  beau  you  about.  Good 
night!"  And  beckoning  his  dog,  Mr.  Mortiboy 
took  his  departure. 

Scarcely  had  the  door  closed  behind  him,  than 
the  long-restrained  comments  began. 

"A  pleasant  visitor  uncle  Crump  has  sent  us, 
mamma!"   said  Kate. 

"Uncle  Crump,  indeed  !  Who  never  sent  us 
anything  before,  except  a  five-pound  note  when 
poor  papa  died!"  exclaimed  Ellen. 

"But  you  won't,  will  you,  mamma,  you  won't 
be  put  upon  in  this  way?  You  won't  have  this 
horrid  man  running  in  and  out  at  all  times  and 
seasons,  and " 

"And  beau-ing  us  about !  the  vulgar  wretch  !" 
interrupted  Kate. 

"My  dears !  my  dears!"  said  Mrs.  Barford, 
"it  strikes  me  that  some  one  has  been  teaching 
you  very  strong  language." 

"Not  I,  Mrs.  Barford,"  said  Mr.  Sandham  ; 
"absolve  me  from  that;  though  I  must  own  that 
if  ever  I  saw  a  man  who  wanted  kicking " 

"Nonsense,  Mr.  Sandham.  This  gentleman  is 
imbued  with  certain  London  peculiarities,  no 
doubt  ;  but  I  dare  say  there's  good  in  him.  There 
must  be,  or  he  would  never  b'e  the  partner  of 
such  an  upright  man  as  Jonas  Crump." 

"Upright  man!  Pooh!"  said  Kate;  and  then 
the  supper  come  in,  and  the  subject  dropped. 

At  nine  o'clock  next  morning,  just  as  the  break- 
fast things  had  been  cleared,  and  Mrs.  Barford 
was  going  through  her  usual  interview  with  the 
cook,  Kate,  who  was  sitting  in  the  little  bay- 
window,  started  and  exclaimed  :  "Oh,  mamma  ! 
Here's  this  horYid  man  !" 

Elkn  peeped  over  her  shoulder  and  said,  "I 


MRS.   L1RRIPERS  LODGINGS. 

Many 


think  he  looks,  if  possible,  more  dreadful  by  day- 
light than  by  candlelight !" 

Mr.  John  Mortiboy,  utterly  unconscious  of  the 
effect  he  was  producing,  unlatched  the  garden- 
gate,  and  then  for  the  first  time  looking  up,  nod- 
ded shortly  and  familiarly  at  the  sisters.  "How 
do,  young  ladies?"  he  called  from  the  garden. 
"Fine  morning  this:  fresh  and  all  that  sort  of 
thing  !  I  feel  better  already.  When  a  London 
man's  a  little  overdone,  nothing  sets  him  up  so 
soon  as  a  sniff  of  the  briny." 

And  then  he  took  a  great. gulp,  as  if  to  swallow 
as  much  fresh  air  as  possible,  and  entered  the 
house,  followed  by  his  dog. 

"Did  you  hear  him,  Nelly?"  asked  Kate. 
''The  wretch!  I'm  sure  /won't  be  seen  walking 
with  him,  in  his  nasty  black  clothes,  like  an  un- 
dertaker." 

"He  has  a  chimney-pot  hat  on,  and  has  brought 
his  umbrella  !  Fancy  !  At  the  sea  !"  said  Ellen. 
"Good  morning,  Mrs.  Barford,"  said  Mr.  Mor- 
tiboy; "domestic  arrangments,  eh?  I  understand. 
If  you've  no  objection,  I'll  do  myself  the  pleasure 
of  cutting  my  mutton  with  you  to-day.  And  mut- 
ton it  will  be,  I  suppose  !  Can't  get  any  beef  here, 
I  understand,  except  on  Friday,  which  is  killing- 
day  for  the  barracks.  Bad  arrangement  that; 
wants  alteration." 

"Hadn't  you  better  alter  it  then,  Mr.  Mor- 
tiboy," said  Kale  ;  "superintending  the  butcher 
will  be  a  pleasant  way  of  spending  your  holiday." 
"Joking miss,  eh?  Well  I  don't  mind.  But 
ain't  you  coming  out,  young  ladies,  for  a  mouth- 
ful of  air.  I  suppose  the  old  lady  dont  move  so 
early." 

"If  you  refer  to  mamma,"  said  Ellen,  frigidly, 
"she  never  goes  out  until  ^ust  before  dinner." 

"Ah,  I  thought  not.  Old  folks  must  wait  until 
the  air  is  what  they  call  warmed  hy  the  sun.  But 
that  won't  hinder  our  taking  a  turn,  I  suppose. 
Where's  Whiskerandos  ?" 

"If,  as  I  presume,  you  meant  M  r.  Sandham 
the  gentleman  who  was  here  last  night,  I  cannot 
inform  you  Mr.  Mortiboy,"  said  Kate,  with  a  very 
flushed  face,  and  a  slightly  trembling  voice  ;  "but 
I  would  advise  you  not  to  let  him  hear  you  joking 
about  him,  as  he  is  rather  quick-tempered." 

"Oh,  indeed!"  exclaimed  Mr.  Mortiboy,  "a 
fire-eater  is  he  ?  Well,  there's  no  duelling  now, 
you  know.  Any  nonsense  of  that  sort, — give  a 
man  in  charge  of  a  policeman,  or  summons  him 
before  a  magistrate,  and  get  him  b9und  over." 

Just  at  this  moment  Mrs.  Barford  came  in  and 
told  the  girls  to  get  their  hats  on,  and  show  Mr. 
Mortiboy  the  prettiest  spots  in  the  village,  the 
Castle  Hill,  the  ruined  Abbey,  and  the  Smug- 
gler's Leap.     To    these  places    they  went,  Mr. 


MRS.  LIRRIPER'S  LODGIXGS. 


3* 


Mortiboy  discoursing  the  whole  way  of  the  bad- 
ness ofthe  roads,  and  of  what  improvements 
might  be  made  if  they  had  a  properly  constituted 
local  board  of  health  at  Penethly  ;  declaring  that 
the  cries  of  "Milford  oysters,"  and  "fresh  hud- 
dick,"  were  entirely  unconstitutional  and  illegal,' 
as  no  one  had  a  right  to  shout  in  the  public 
streets ;  that  there  ought  to  be  proper  stands  pro- 
vided for  the  car-drivers;  and  that  a  regular  po- 
lice supervision  was  urgently  demanded.  Ho  did 
not  think  much  of  the  Abbey  ruins,  and  he  laugh- 
ed in  scorn  at  the  story  of  the  Smuggler's  Leap. 
As  they  were  on  their  homeward  way,  coming 
round  the  Castle  Hill,  they  met  Mr.  Sandham, 
very  ruddy  and  fresh,  and  shiny,  and  with  a 
couple  of  towels  in  his  hand.  He  took  off  his 
widr-nwake  as  he  approached  the  ladies,  and 
bowed  slightly  to  Mr.  Mortiboy. 

"Ah  Mr.  Sandham  !"  said  Ellen,  with  an  ad- 
monitory finger,  you  have  been  bathing  again  by 
St.  Catherine's  Rock, after  all  the  warning  we  gave 
you  !" 

"My  dear  Ellen,"  interposed  Kate  with  a 
petulentair,  "how  can  you  ?  If  Mr.  Sandham 
chooses  to  risk  his  life  after  what  he  has  been 
told,  it  surely  is  nothing  to  us  !" 

"Now,  Miss  Kate,  Miss  Kite,  that's  not  fair  !" 
said  Sandham;  "you  know,"  he  added,  dropping 
his  voice,  "that  every  word  of  yours  would  have 
weight  with  me,  but  the  tide  was  slack  this  morn- 
ing, and  really  there  is  no  other  place  where  a 
swimmer  can  really  enjoy  a  bath.  You  are  a 
swimmer,  Mr.  Mortiboy?" 

"Yes,  sir,"  replied  that  gentleman.  "Yes,  sir,  I 
can  manage  it  I've  had  lessons  at  Peerless  Pool 
and  the  Holborn  Baths,  and  can  keep  up  well 
enough.  But  I  don't  like  it.  I  dont  see  much  fun 
in  what  are  absurdly  called  the  'manly  exercises.' 
Twenty  years  ago,  young  men  used  to  like  driv- 
ing coaches  ;  now  I  can't  conceive  duller  work 
than  holding  a  bunch  of  thick  leather  reins  in 
your  hand,  steering  four  tired  horses,  sitting  on  a 
hard  seat,  andilistening  to  the  conversation  of  an 
uneducated  coachman.  I  never  ride,  because  I 
hate  bumping  up  and  down  on  a  hard  saddle  and 
rubbing  the  skin  off  my  body  ;  I  never  play  crick- 
et, because  in  the  hot  weather  I  like  to  keep 
quiet  and  cool,  and  not  toil  in  the  sun';  and  as  to 
going  out  shooting  and  stumping  over  miles  of 
stubble  in  September,  lugging  a  big  gun  and 
tiring  myself  to  denth,  I  look  upon  that  as  the 
pursuit  of  a  maniac  !     I  am  n  practical  man  !" 

"You  are  indeed  !"  said  Kate,  as  she  dropped 
gradually  behind  with  Mr.  Sandham,  and  left  the 
practical  man  and  her  sister  Ellen  to  lead  tho 
way  to  the  house. 

It  is  unnecessary    to  recount  the    sayings  and 


doings  of  Mr.  John  Mortiboy  during  the  next  few 
days.  It  is  enough  that  he  spent  the  greater 
portion  of  them  with  the  Barfoid  family,  and  that 
he  so  elaborated  his  ideas  of  practicality,  and  so 
enveighed  against  every  thing  that  was  not  abso- 
lutely useful  in  a  mercantile  point  of  view — in- 
cluding, in  a  measure,  art,  poetry,  music,  and  the 
domestic  affections —that  he  incurred  the  unmit- 
igated hatred  of  the  young  ladies,  and  even  fell 
to  zero  in  Mrs,  Barford's  estimation. 

It  was  about  the  fifth  morning  after  the  intru- 
sion of  this  utterly  incongruous  element  into  the 
society  of  Albion  Villa,  that  Ellen  and  Kate 
strolled  out  immediately  after  breakfast  with  the 
view  of  escaping  the  expected  visit  of  their  per- 
secutor, and  made  their  way  to  the  Castle  Hill. 
The  night  had  been  tempestuous,  and  from  their 
window  they  had  noticed  that  a  heawy  sea  was 
running:  they  consequently  were  not  surprised 
to  see  a  little  group  of  people  gathered  on  the 
heights  looking  towards  St.  Catherine's  Rock  :  a 
huge  mass  of  granite  surmounted  by  an  old  ruin 
round  which,  when  it  was  insulated  at  high  wa- 
ter, the  tide  always  swept  with  a  peculiar  and 
dangerous  swirl.  But  when  they  joined  the 
group,  among  which  were  sevt  ral  of  their  friends, 
they  found  that  the  concourse  were  regarding, 
with  interest  mingled  with  fright,  the  movements 
of  a  swimmer  who  had  rounded  the  extremity  of 
Catherine's,  and  was  seen  making  for  the  shore. 

"He'll  never  do  it,"  said  Captain  Calthorp,  an 
old  half-pay  dragoon,  who  had  been  tempted  by 
the  cheapness  of  Penethly  to  pitch  his  tent 
there  ;  "he'll  never  do  it,  by  Jove  .'  Yes  f  Well 
struggled,  sir;  he  made  a  point  there — hold  on, 
now,  and  he's  in." 

"Whoisit7  asked  the  const-guard  lieutenant 
who  was  standing  by.     "Any  one  we  know  ?" 

"I  can't  tell  at  this  distt  nee  .'".said  Captain 
Calthorp,  "though  it  looks  like — stay  !  There's 
one  of  your  look-out  men  on  the  height,  with  a 
glass  ;  give  him  a  hail !" 

"Yoho !  Morgan  !"  cried  Uie  lieutenant.  "Ay, 
ay,  sir  !"  was  the  man's  ready  response,  tliough 
the  glass  was  never  moved.  "Bring  that  glass 
down  here!"  "Ay,  ay,  sir;"  and  in  two  minut-s 
the  old  coast-guard  man  was  by  his  officer's  side. 
He  saluted  and  handed  the  glass,  but  as  he  did 
so  he  said,  in  an  undertone,  "God  help  the  gen- 
tleman, he's  done  !  Ah,  look  you  now,  poor 
thing,  nothihg  can  save  him." 

"What !"  cries  the  lieutenant,  clapping  the 
glass  to  his  eye.  "By  Jove,  you're  right!  he's  in 
a  bad  way.  and  it — why  it's  the  artist  chap,  that 
friend  of  the  Bat-fords'!" 

"Wlio?''  screamed  Kate,  rushing  up  at  the  mo- 
ment.     "  Who  did  ynu  »y,  Mr.   Lawford  '      '  I 


10 


MRS.   LIRRIPERS  LODGINGS. 


for  God's  sake,  save  him'.  Save  him,  Mr.  Law- 
ford  !     Save  him,  Captain  Calthorp  !" 

"My  dear  young  lady,"'  said  the  last-named 
gentleman,  "I  am  sure  Lawford  did'nt  know  you 
were  here,  or  he  wouldn't " 

"This  is  no  time  for  ceremony,  Captain  Cal- 
thorp," said  Ellen;  "for  Heaven's  sake  let  some 

effort  be  made  to  save  my  sister's to  save  Mr. 

Sandham!" 

"My  dear  Miss  Barford,"  said  Lawford,  who 
had  been  whispering  with  Morgan,  "I  fear  no 
mortal  aid  can  avail  the  poor  dear  fellow  now. 
Before  we  could  descend  the  rock,  and  launch 
a  boat,  with  the    tide    ebbing  at  the  rate  it  now 


"Hur  would  have  been  swep'  round  Catherine's, 
and  away  out  to  sea!"  said  Morgan. 

"Oh,  help  him  !"  screamed  Kate.  "Oh,  how 
cruel!  how  cowardly!  Oh,  help  him,  Mr  Law- 
ford!" She  lifted  up  her  hands  piteously  to  the 
lieutenant.  "Oh,  Mr.  Mortiboy"'  she  exclaimed, 
as  that  gentleman  came  slowly  sauntering  up  the 
hill  withBeppo  at  his  heels,  "for  God's  sake,  save 
Mr.  Sandham  !" 

"Save — Mr.  Sandham — my  dear  young  lady  ; 
I  don't  exactly  comprehend!"  began  Mr.  Mor- 
tiboy, looking  vaguely  in  the  direction  of  her 
outstretched  hand;  then  suddenly,  "Good  Lord  •' 
is  that  his  head  T  There  !   Down  there  .'" 

"Yes!"  whispered  Ellen  Barford;  "yes!  They 
say  he  will  be  whirled  away  before  a  boat  could 
be  launched — they  say  he  is  lost  now  !" 

"Not  at  all !  Not  yet,  at  least!"  replied  Mor- 
tiboy, excited,  but  without  much  perceptible 
alteration  of  manner.  "While  there's  life  there's 
hope,  you  know,  Miss  B.,  and  even  yet  we  may — 
Here,  Beppo !  Hi,  man  !  hi !  Good  boy  !"  The 
do"-  came,  leaping  round  his  master.  "Hi !  ho  ; 
Not  here  !  There !  there  !  Look,  boy !"  catch- 
ing him  bvthe^collar,  and  pointing  down  to  where 
Sandham's  head  was  a  mere  speck  on  the  water. 
"Look,  man!  Look,  old  boy!  He  sees  it,  by 
Jove!"  as  the  dog  uttered  a  low  growl,  and  be- 
came restive.  "In,  old  man!  In,  fine  fellow! 
In,  Beppo  !  Look  !  Noble  dog,  in  he  goes  !  " 

In  he  went,  with  one  bound  over  the  low  stone 
wall,  then  quickly  down  the  sloping  slippery 
boulders,  then  with  a  plunge  into  the  sea — lost 
sight  of  for  a  moment,  rising  to  view  again,  pad- 
dling off  straight  for  the  drowning  man.  The  swift 
current  whirled  him  in  eddies  here  and  there,  but 
Su\\  the  brave  dog  persevered ;  the  spectators 
held  their  breath,  as  theysaw  him  bearing  down 
upon  the  black  speck,  which  was  even-  second 
growing  smaller  and  smaller,  and  receding  fur- 
ther and  further  from  the  land.  But  the  dog 
made  grand  progress,  the  strong  sucking  under- 
current helped  him,  and  he  arrived  at  Sandham's 


sidejust  in  time  for  the  drowning  man  to  fling 
his  arms  round  the  dog's  neck,  and  to  feel  hi» 
shoulder  seized  by  the*  dog's  teeth.  They  saw 
this  from  the  shore,  and  then  Kate '  Barford 
fainted. 

But  the  work  was  only  half  done  :  the  dog 
turned  round  and  battled  bravely  for  the  shore, 
but  he  was  encumbered  by  his  burden,  and  now 
the  current  was  against  him.  He  strove  tind 
strove,  but  the  way  he  made  was  small,  and  every 
foot  was  gained  with  intense  struggling  and  ex- 
ertion. "By  Jove  !  He'll  never  doit,"  cried 
Lieutenant  Lawford,  with  the  glass  at  his  eye, 
and,  as  he  said  the  words,  old  Morgan,  the  pre- 
ventive man,  added  through  his  teeth,  "'Hur  * 
must  be  helped,  at  any  cost,"  and  sped  away 
down  the  rock,  shaping  his  course  to  where  a 
small  pleasure-boat  lay  high  and  dry  on  the  sand. 
"I'm  with  you,  governor,"  cried  John  Mortiboy; 
"I  can't  feather,  but  I  pull  a  strongish  oar;" 
and  he  followed  the  old  man  as  best  he  could. 
The  boat  was  reached,  and  pushed  by  main 
force  to  the  water's  edge,  where  Mortiboy  en- 
tered it,  and  old  Morgan  ran  in,  waist-deep,  to 
give  it  the  starting  shove,  and  leaped  in  to  join 
his  comrade.  On  they  pulled,  Morgan  with  a 
measured  steady  stroke,  Mortiboy  with  fevered 
strong  jerks  that  sent  the  boat's  head  now  to  the 
right,  now  to  the  left  :  when  old  Morgan,  sud- 
denly looking  over  his  shoulder,  called  out  "Hur's 
done!  Hijr's  sinking  now,  both  on  'em  !"  Mor- 
tiboy looked  round  too;  they  were  still  some  ten 
boats'  length  from  the  object  of  their  pursuit, 
and  both  dog  and  man  were  vanishing.  "Not 
yet!"  cried  he;  and  in  an  instant  he  had  torn  off" 
the  black  coat  and  the  Wellington  boots,  and  hod 
flung  himself,  as  nobly  as  his  own  dog,  into  the 
sea. 

A  very  few  strokes  brought  him  to  Sandham  ; 
he  seized  him  by  the  hair  of  his  head,  and  bat- 
tled bravely  with  the  waves ;  the  dog,  recognis- 
ing his  master,  -seemed  to  take  fresh  courage, 
and  the  trio  floated  until  old  Morgan  dragged 
them  one  by  one  into  the  boat.  When  they 
reached  the  shore,  allPenethly  was  on  the  beach, 
cheering  wiih  all  its  might  :  they  lifted  out  Mr. 
Sandham,  insensible  but  likely  to  recover,  and 
they  administered  a  very  stiff  glass  of  grog  to  Mr. 
Mortiboy,  who  wae  shivering  like  an  aspen-leaf, 
but  who  received  even  greater  warmth  from  a 
warm  pressure  of  Ellen  Barford's  hand,'  and  a 
whispered  "God  bless  you,  Mr.  Mortiboy !"  than 
from  the  grog — though  he  took  that,  too,  like  a 
man  whom  it  comforted.  As  for  Beppo,  I  don't 
know  what  the  fishing  population  would  not  have 
done  for  him,  but  that  he  positively  refused  to  stir 
from  Sandham's  side.  As  they  carried  the  artist 
up  to  his  lodgings  the  dog  buried  his  none    in  the 


MRS.  LIRRIPER'S  LODGINGS. 


41 


pendent  hand,  and  did  not  leave  until  he  had  seen 
his  charge  safely  placed  in  bed. 

Mr.  Sandham  was,  in  his  own  words,  "All 
right"  next  day;  but  Mr.  Mortibov,  unaccustomed 
to  exercise  and  damp,  fell  ill,  and  was  confined 
to  his  bed  for  several  weeks — would  have  never 
left  it,  I  think, but  for  the  care  and  attention  of 
his  three  nurses  from  Albion  Villa.  Of  these, 
Ellen  was  the  most  constant  and  the  most  regu- 
lar, and  the  patient  always  seemed  better  under 
her  care. 

'"He  is  making  progress,  Kate,"  she  said  one 
night  to  her  sister.  "He  his  a  ^"(.,!  patient.  You 
know,  .-is  ho  would  say  himself,  lie  is  so  practi- 
cal !  " 

"God  bless  his  practicality,  Nell,"  said  Kate, 
with  tears  in  her  eyes.  "Think  what  it  did  f#r 
us  !" 

Three  years  have  passed  since  then,  Major; 
and  a  family  group  is  going  to  be  gathered  in  n 
large  square  room  built  as  a  kind  of  exei 
to  -.<  very  pretty  villa  in  Kensington.  This  is  to 
be  the  studio  of  Mr.  Sandham,  A.  R.  A.  But  as 
the  mortar  and  plaster  are  extraordinarily  slow 
in  drying  (when  where  they  not,  Major?),  Mr. 
Sandham,  A.  R.  A.,  come  up  from  Wales  with 
the  family  group  to  take  possession  as  establish- 
ed the  group  at  the  excellent  Lodgings  of  the 
excellent  Mrs.  Lirriper,  and  he,  the  owner  of 
said  studio,  is  smoking  a  pipe  with  a  worthy  Ma- 
jor, and  smoothing  with  his  slippered  foot  the 
rough  curly  back  of  his  dog  Beppo,  who  is 
stretched  in  front  of  the  fire.  Mrs.  Sandham, 
formerly  Kate  Barford,  is  working  at  a  baby's 
frock,  and  asking  now  and  then  the  advice  of  her 
sister,  who  is  frilling  a  little  cap.  (There  they 
are,  Major.     Don't  tell  them  that  I  said  so.) 

"How  late  John  is  to-night,  Ellen!"  said  old 
Mrs.  Barford,  from  her  place  in  the  chimney- 
corner.     (You  hear  her,  Major  ?) 

"Always  at.  Chrisjmns-time,  dear  mother," 
says  Ellen.  (There  she  is,  Major.)  "Since  uncle 
Crump's  death,  you  know,  John's  business  is 
trebled, and  itnll  hangs  on  him,  dearold  fellow."' 
"He  will  be  late  for  supper,  Nelly,"  says  Sand- 
ham.     "( — Excuse  me.  Major.)" 

"No,  he  won't,  Ned!"  cries  a  cheerv  voice  nt 
the  door  ns.Tohn  Mnrtibovnppe.irs;  "no  ho  won't 
He's  never  late  for  any  tliinjr  good  Don't  you 
know,  ho';  a  practical  man  ?" 

— Mr.  Mortibov.  Major  Jackman,    Major,  Mr 

Mortiboy  ? 

*•« 

V. 

HOW     THE  THIRD     KT.OOR     KfiV.W   THE    POTTK.RtES. 

I  AW  a  plain  man,  Major,  ami  you  mav  not 
dislike  to  hear  a  plain  Statement  of  facts  from  me. 
Some  of  those  tacts  lie  beyond  my  understanding. 


I  do  not  pretend  to  explain  them.  I  only  know 
that  they  happened  as  I  relate  them,  and  that  T 
pledge  myself  for  the  truth  of  every  word  of  them. 
I  began  life  roughly  enough,  down  among  the 
Potteries,  [was  an  orphan:  and  my  earliest 
recollections  are  of  a  great  porcelain  manufac- 
tory in  the  country  of  the  Potteries,  where  I  help- 
ed about  the  yard,  picked  up  what  halfpence  fell 
in  my  way,  and  slept  in  a  harness-loft  over  the 
stable.  Those  were  hard  times;  but  things  bet- 
tered themselves  as  I  grew  older  and  stronger, 
especially  after  George  Barnard  had  come  to  be 
foreman  of  the  yard. 

George  Barnard  was  a  Wesleyan — we  were 
mostly  dissenters  in  the  Potteries — sober,  clear- 
headed, somewhat  sulky  and  silent,  but  a  good 
fellow  every  inch  of  him,  and  my  best  friend  at 
the  time  when  I  most  needed  a  good  friend.  He 
took  me  out  of  the  yard,  and  set  me  to  the  fur- 
nace-work. He  entered  me  on  the  book  at.  a  fixed 
rate  of  wagest  He  helped  me  to  pay  for  a  little 
cheap  schooling  four  nights  a  week  ;  and  he  led 
me  to  'go  with  him  on  Sundays  to  the  chapel  down 
by  the  river-side,  where  I  first  saw  Leah  Payne. 
Sin-  was  his  sweeatheart,  and  so  pretty  that  I  used 
to  forget,  the  preacher  and  every  body  else,  when 
I  looked  at  her.  When  she  joined  in  the  singing, 
1  beard  no  voice  but  hers.  If  she  asked  me  for 
the  hymn-book,  I  used  to  blush  and  tremble.  I 
believe  I  worshipped  her,  in  my  stupid  ignorant 
way;  and  I  think  I  worshipped  Barnard  almost 
as  blindly,  though  after  a  different  passion.  I, 
felt  I  owed  him  every  thing.  I  knew  that  he  had 
saved  me,  body  and  mind  ;  and  I  looked  up  to 
him  as  a  savage  might  look  up  to  a  missionary. 

Leah  was  the  daughter  of  a  plumber,  who  lived 
clese  by  the  chapel.  She  was  twenty,  and  George 
about  seven  or  eight-and-thirty,  Some  captions 
folks  said  there  was  too  much  difference  in  their 
ages  ;  but  she  was  so  serious-minded,  and  they 
loved  each  other  so  earnestly  and  quietly,  thai  if 
nothing  had  come  between  them  during  their 
courtship,  I  don't  believe  the  question  of  disparity 
would  ever  have  troubled  the  happiness  of  their 
married  lives.  Something  did  come,  however  ; 
and  that  something  was  a  Frenchman,  called 
Minis  Larocbe.  lie  was  a  painter  on  porcelain, 
from  the  famous  works  at  Sevres:  and  our  mas- 
ter, it  was  said,  had  engaged  him  for  three  \ears 
certain,  nt  such  wages  as  none  of  our  own  people, 
however  skilful,  could  hope  to  command.  It  was 
about  the  beginning  or  middle  of  September 
when  lie  first  came  among  US.  He  looked  very 
young ;  was  small,  dark,  and  well  made 
little  white  soft  hands,  nnd  a  silky  moustache  ; 
and  spoke  English  nearly  as  well  as  ldo.  None 
of  us  liked  him  ;  but  that  was  only  natural,  seeing 
how  he  was  put  over  the   head  of  every    English- 


42 


MRS.  LIRRIPER'S  LODGINGS. 


man  in  the  place.  Besides,  though  he  was  al- 
ways smiling  and  civil,  we  couldn't  help  seeing 
that  he  thought  himself  ever  so  much  better  than 
the  rest  of  us;  and  that  was  not  pleasant.  Neither 
was  it  pleasant  to  see  him  strolling  about  the 
town,  dressed  just  like  a  gentleman,  when  work- 
ing hours  were  over;  smoking  good  cigars,  when 
we  were  forced  to  be  content  with  a  pipe  of  com- 
mon tobacco ;  hiring  a  horse  on  Sunday  after- 
noons, when  we  were  trudging  a-foot;  and  tak- 
ing his  pleasure  as  if  the  world  was  made  for  him 
to  enjoy,  and  us  to  work  in. 

"Ben,  boy,"  said  George,  "there's  something 
wrong  about  that  Frenchman." 

It  was  on  a  Saturday  afternoon,  and  we  were 
sitting  on  a  pile  of  empty  seggars  against  the 
door  of  the  furnace-room,  waiting  till  the  men 
should  all  have  cleared  out  of  the  yard.  Seggars 
are  deep  earthen  boxes  in  which  the  pottery  is 
put,  while  being  fired  in  the  kiln. 

[  looked  up,  inquiringly. 

"About  the  Count?"  said  I,  for  that  was  the 
nickname  by  which  he  went  in   the  pottery. 

George  nodded,  and  paused  for  a  moment  with 
his  chin  resting  on  his  palms. 

"He  has  an  evil  eye,"  said  he;  "and a  false 
smile.     Something  wroi  g  abouthim." 

I  drew  nearer,  and  listened  to  George  as  if  he 
had  been  an  oracle. 

"Besides,"  added  he,  in  his  slow  quiet  way, 
with  his  eyes  fixed  straight-before  him  as  if  he 
\v;is  thinking  aloud,  "there's  a  young  look  about 
him  thut  isn't  natural;  Take  him  just  at  sight,, 
and  you'd  think  he  was  almost  a  boy  ;  but  look 
close  at  him — see  the  little  fine  wrinkles  under 
his  eyes,  and  the  hard  lines  about  his  mouth,  and 
then  tell  me  his  age,  if  you  can  !  Why,  Ben,  boy, 
he's  as  old  as  I  am,  pretty  near:  ay,  and  as  strong 
too.  You  stare  ;  but  I  tell  you  that,  slight  as  he 
looks,  he  could  fling  you  over  his  shoulder  as  if 
you  were  a  feather.  And  as  for  his  hands,  little 
and  white  as  they  are,  ihere  are  muscles  of  iron 
inside  them,  take  my  word  for  it." 

"But,  George,  how  can  you  know  ?" 

"Because  I  have  a  warning  against  him,"  re- 
plied George,  very  gravely.  "Because,  whenever 
he  is  by,  I  feel  as  if  my  eyes  saw  clearer,  and  my 
f<ns  heard  keener,  than  at  other  times.  May  be 
it's  presumption,  but  I  sometimes  feel  as  if  1  had 
a  call  to  guard  myself  and  others  against  him. 
Look  at  the  children,  Ben,  how  they  shrink  away 
from  him;  and  see  there,  now!  Ask  Captain 
what  he  thinks  of  him!  Ben,  that  dog  likes  him 
no  better  than  I  do." 

).  looked,  and  saw  Captain  crouching  by  his 
kennel  with  his  ears  laid  back,  growling  audibly, 
as  the  Frenchman  came  slowly  down  the  steps 
leading  from  his  own  workshop  at  the  upper  end 


of  the  yard.  On  the  last  step  he  paused  ;  lighted' 
a  cigar  ;  glanced  round,  as  if  to  see  whether  any 
one  was  by;  and  then  walked  straight  over  to*- 
within  a  couple  of  yards  of  the  kennel.  Captain 
gave  a  short  angry  snarl,  and  laid  his  muzzle- 
close  down  upon  his  paws,  ready  for  a  spring. 
The  Frenchman  folded  his  arms  deliberately} 
fixed  his  eyes  on  the  dog,  and  stood  calmly  smok- 
ing. He  knew  exactly  how  far  he  dared  go,  and 
kept  just  that  one  foot  out  of  harm's  way.  All 
at  once  he  stooped,  puffed  a  mouthful  of  smoke 
in  the  dog's  eyes,  burst  into  a  mocking  lauyh, 
turned  lightly  on  his  heel,  and  walked  away  : 
leaving  Captain  straining  at  his  chain,  and  bark- 
ing after  him  like  a  mad  creature. 

Hays  went  by,  and  I,  at  work  in  my  own  de- 
partment, saw  no  more  of  the  Count.  Sunday 
came — the  third,  I  think,  after  I  had  talked  with 
George  in  the  yard.  Going  with  George  to  chap- 
el, as  usual,  in  the  morning,  I  noticed  that  there 
was  something  strange  and  anxious  in  his  face, 
and  that  he  scarcely  opened  his  lips  to  me  on  the 
way.  Still  I  said  nothing.  It  was  not  my  place  to 
question  him  :  and  I  remember  thinking  to  my- 
self that  the  cloud  would  all  clear  oflfassoon  as  he 
found  himself  by  Leah's  side,  holding  the  same 
book,  and  joining  in  the  same  hymn.  It  did  not, 
however,  for  no  Leah  was  there,  I  looked  every 
moment  at  the  door,  expecting  to  see  her  sweet 
face  coming  in ;  but  George  never  lifted  his  eyes 
from  his  book,  or  seemed  to  notice  that  her  place 
was  empty.  Thus  the  whole  service  went  by,  and 
my  thoughts  wandered  continually  from  the  words 
of  the  preacher.  As  soon  as  the  last  blessing  was 
spoken,  and  we  were  fairly  across  the  threshold,  I 
turned  to  George  and  asked  if  Leah  was  ill  ? 

"No,"  said  he  gloomily.  "She's  not  ill." 

"Then  why  wasn't  she — ?  " 

"I'll  tell  you  why,"  he  interrupted  impatiently. 
"Because  you've  seen  her  here  for  the  last  time. 
She's  never  coming  to  chapel  again." 

"Never  coming  to  the  chapel  again  V  I  fal- 
tered, laying  my  hand  on  his  sleeve  in  the  earn- 
estness of  my  surprise.  "Why,  George,  whatis 
the  matter  ?" 

But  he  shook  my  hand  off,  and  stamped  with 
his  iron  heel  till  the  pavement  rang  again. 

"Dont  ask  me,"  said  he,  roughly.  "Let  me 
alone.     You'll  know  soon  enough." 

And  with  this  he  turned  off  down  a  by-lane 
leading  towards  the  hills,  and  left  me  without 
another  word. 

I  had  had  plenty  of  hard  treatment  in  my  time; 
but  never,  until  that  moment,  an  angry  look  or 
syllable  for  George.  I  did  not  know  how  to  bear 
it.  That  day  my  dinner  seemed  as  if  it  would 
choke  me;  and  in  the  afternoon  I  went  out  and 
wandered  restlessly  about  the  fields   till   the  hour 


MRS.  LIRRirER'S   LODGINGS. 


43 


for  evening  prayers  came  round  I  then  returned 
to  the  chapel,  and  sat  down  on  a  tomb  outside, 
waiting  for  George.  I  saw  the  congregation  go 
in  by  twos  and  threes.  I  heard  the  first  psalm-tune 
echo  solemnly  throng- h  the  evening  stillness;  but 
no  George  came.  Then  the  service  began,  and 
1  knew  that,  punctual  as  his  habit9  were,  it  was 
of  no  use  to  expect  him  any  longer.  Where  could 
h- be  ?  What  could  have  happened  1  Why  should 
Leah  Payne  never  come  to  chapel  again'1  Had 
ahe  goneover  to  some  other  seel,  and  was  that 
why  George  Beemed  so  unhappy? 

Sitting  there  in , the  little  dreary  churchyard 
with  the  darkness  fast  gathering  around  me,  1 
asked  myself  these  questions  over  and  over  again, 
till  my  brain  ached  ;  fori  was  not  much  used  to 
thinking  about  anything  in  those  times.  At  last,  I 
could  bear  to  sit  quiet  no  longer.  The  sudden 
thought  struck  me  that  I  would  go  to  Leah,  and 
learn  what  the  matter  was,  from  her  own  lips. 
I  Sprang  to  my  feet,  and  set  off  at  once  towards 
her  home. 

It  was  quite  dark,  and  alight  rain  was  begin* 
DiOg  to  fall.  I  found  the  garden-gate  open,  and  a 
quick  hope  flashed  across  me  that  George  might 
be  there.  I  drew  back  for  a  moment,  hesitating 
whether  to  knock  or  ring,  when  a  sound  of  voices 
in  the  passage,  and  the  sudden  gleaming  of  a 
bright  line  of  light  under  the  door,  warned  me 
that  some  one  was  coining  out.  Taken  by  sur- 
prise, anil  quite  unprepared  for  the  moment  with 
anything  to  say,  I  shrank  back  behind  the  porch> 
and  waited  until  those  within  should  have  pas- 
sed out.  The  door  opened,  and  the  light  streamed 
suddenly  upon  the  rose  and  the  white  gravel. 

"It  rains,''  siid  Leah,  bending  forward  and 
shading  the  candle  with  her  hand. 

"And  is    as  cold  as    Siberia,"    added   another 
voice,  which  was  not  George's,    and  yet  sounded 
•ly  familiar.     "Ugh  !  what   a    climate  for 
such  a  flower  a?  my  darling  to  bloom  in  !" 

"Is  it  so  much  liner  in  France  '"  asked  Leah, 
softly. 

"As  much  finer  as  blue  skies  and  sunshine  can 
make  it.  Why,  my  angel,  even  your  bright  eyes 
will  be  ten  times  brighter,  and  your  rosv  cheeks 
ten  times  rosier,  when  they  are  transplanted  to 
Paris.  Ah  !  lean  give  you  no  idea  of  the  wonders 
of  Paris — the  brond  streets  planted  with  trees, 
the  palaces,*the  shops,  the  gardens  ? — it  is  a  city 
of  enchantment." 

"It  must  be,  indeed!"  said  Leah.  And  you 
will  really  take  me  to  see  all  those  beautiful 
shops  7" 

"Every  Sunday,  my  darling — Bah!  don't  look 
so  shocked.  The  shops  in  Paris  are  always  open 
on  Snnday,  and  every  body  makes  holiday.  You 
will  soon  get  over  these  prejudices." 


"I  fear  it  is  very  wrong  to  take  so  much  pleas- 
ure in  the  things  of  this  world,"  sighed  Leah. 

The  Frenchman  laughed  and  answered  her 
with  a  kiss. 

"Goodnight,  my  sweet  little  saint!"  and  he 
ran  lightly  down  the  path,  and  disappeared  in 
the  darkness.  Leah  sighed  again,  lingered  a 
moment,  atid  then  closed  the  door. 

Stupified  and  bewildered,  I  stood  for  some 
seconds  like  a  stone  statue,  unable  to  move  ; 
scarcely  able  to  think.  At  length,  I  roused  my- 
self, as  it  were  mechanically,  and  went  towards 
■  '.  At  that  instant  a  heavy  hand  was  laid 
upon  my  shoulder,  and  a  hoarse  voice  close  be- 
side my  ear,  said  : 

"Who  are  you  1      What  are  you  doing  here  ?" 

It  was  George.  I  knew  him  at  once,  in  spite 
of  the  darkness,  and  stammered  his  name.  He 
took  his  hand. quietly  from  my  shoulder. 

"How  long  have  you  been  here?  said  he,  fierce-' 
ly.  "What  right  have  you  to  lurk  about,  like 
a  spy  in  the  dark  ?  God  help  me,  Ben— I'm  half 
mad.     I  don't  mean  to  be  harsh  to  you." 

"I'm  sure  you  don't,"  I  cried,  earnestly. 

"It's  that  cursed  Frenchman,"  he  went  on,  in 
a  voice  that  sounded  like  the  groan  of  one  in 
pain.  "He's  a  villain.  I  know  he's  a  villain  ;  and 
I've  had  a  warning  against  him  ever  since  the 
first  moment  he  came  among  us.  He'll  make  her 
miserable,  and  break  her  heart  some  day — my 
pretty  Leah — and  I  loved  her  so  !  But  I'll  be 
revenged — as  sure  as  there's  a  sun  in  heaven,  I'll 
be  revenged  !" 

His  vehemence  terrified  me.  I  tried  to  per- 
suade «him  to  go  home  ;  but  he  would  not  listen 
to  me. 

"No,  no,"  he  said.  "Go  home  yourself,  boy, 
and  let  me  be.  My  blood  is  on  fire  :  this  rain  is 
good  for  me." 

"If  I  could  only  do  something  to  help  you " 

"You  can't,"  interrupted  he.  "Nobody  can 
help  me.  I'm  a  ruined  man,  and  I  don't  care 
what  becomes  of  me.  The  Lord  forgive  me  !  my 
heart  is  full  of  wickedness,  and  my  thoughts  aro 
the  promptings  of  Satan.  There  go — for  Heaven's 
sake,  go.  I  don't  know  what  I  say,  or  what  I 
do  !" 

1  went,  for  I  did  not  dare  refuse  any  longer  ; 
but  I  lingered  a  while  a'  the  corner  of  the  street, 
and  watched  him  pacing  to  and  fro,  to  and  fro  in 
the  driving  rain.  At  length  I  turned  reluctantly 
away,  and  went  home. 

I  lay  awake  that  night  for  hours,  thinking  over 
the  events  of  thr  day,  and  hating  the  Frenchman 
from  my  very  soul.  I  could  not  hate  Leah.  I 
had  worshipped  her  too  long  and  too  faithfully 
for  that;  but  I  looked  upon  her  as  a  rreaturo 
given  over  to  destruction.      I    fell  asleep  towards 


■11 


MRS.  LIRRIPER'S  LODGINGS. 


morning-,  and  woke  again  shortly  after  daybreak. 
When  I  reached  the  pottery,  I  found  George 
there  before  rne,  looking  very  pale,  but  quite 
himself,  and  setting  the  men  to  their  work  the 
same  as  usual.  I  said  nothing  about  what  bad 
happened  the  day  before.  Something  in  his  face 
silenced  me;  but  seeing  him  so  steady  and  com- 
posed, I  took  heart  and  began  to  hope  he  had 
fought  through  the  worst,  of  his  trouble.  By-and- 
by  the  Frenchman  came  through  the  yard,  gay 
and  oft-hand,  with  his  cigar  in  his  mouth,  and  his 
hands  in  his  pockets.  George  turned  sharply 
away  into  one  of  the  workshops,  and  shut  the 
door.  I  drew  a  deep  breath  of  relief.  My  dread 
was  to  see  them  come  to  an  open  quarrel;  and 
I  made  up  my  mind  never  to  breathe  another 
syllable  on  the  subject,  unless  he  began. 

Wednesday  cane.  I  had  overslept  myself  that, 
morning,  and  came  to  work  a  quarter  after  the 
hour,  expecting  to  be  fined  ;  for  George  was  very 
strict  as  foreman  of  the  yard,  and  treated  friends 
and  enemies  just  the  same.  Instead  of  blaming 
me,  however,  be  called  me  up,  and  said  : 

"Ben,  whose  turn  is  it  this  week  to  sit  up  ?" 

".Mine,  sir,"  I  replied.  (I  always  called  him 
"Sir"  in  working  hours.) 

"Well,  then,  you  may  go  home  to-day,  and  the 
'ame  on  Thursday  and  Friday;  for  there's  a  large 
batch  of  work  for  the  ovens  to-night,  and  there'll 
be  the  same  to-morrow  night  and  the  nicht  after." 

"All  right,  sir,"  said  I.  "Then  I'll  be  here  by 
seven  this  evening." 

"No,  half-past  nine  will  be  soon  enough.  I've 
some  accounts  to  make  up,  and  I  shall  be  here 
myself  till  then.  Mind  you  are  true  to'time, 
though." 

"I'll  be  as  true  as  the  clock,  sir,"  I  replied, 
and  was  turning  away  when  he  called  me  back 
again. 

"You're  a  good  lad,  Ben,"  said  he.  Shake 
hands." 

I  seized  his  hand,  and  pressed  it  warmly. 

"If  I'm  good  for  anything,  George,"  I  an- 
swered with  all  my  heart,  "it's  you  who  have 
made  me  so.     God  bless  you  for  it. !" 

"Amen!"  said  he,  in  a  troubled  voice,  putting 
his  hand  to  his  hat. 

And  so  we  parted. 

In  general,  1  went  to  bed  by  day  when  I  was 
attending  to  the  firing  by  night;  but  this  morn- 
ing I  hud  already  slept  longer  than  usual,  and 
wanted  exercise  more  than  rest.  So  I  ran  home; 
put  a  bit  of  bread  and  meat  in  my  pocket;  snatch- 
ed up  my  big  thorn  stick;  and  started  off  for  a 
Ions  day  in  the  country.  When  I  came  home,  it 
was  quite  dark  and  beginning  to  rain,  just  as  it 
had  begun  to  rain  at  about  the  same  time  that 
v  retched  Sunday  evening  :  so  I  changed  my  wet 


boots,  had  an  early  supper  and  a  nap  in  the 
chimney-corner,  and  went  down  to  the  works  at 
a  few  minutes  before  half-past  nine.  Arriving  at  . 
the  factory  gat(\  I  found  it  ajar,  and  so  walked 
in  and  closed  it  after  me.  I  remember  thinking  at 
the  time  that  it  was  unlike  George's  usual  cau- 
tion to  leave  it  so  :  but  it  passed  from  my  mind 
next  moment.  Having  slipped  in  the  bo|t,  I  then  ' 
went  straight  over  to  George's  little  counting- 
house,  where  the  gas  was  shining  cheerfully  in  # 
the  window.  Here  also,  somewhat  to  my  sur- 
prise, I  found  the  door  open,  and  the  room  empty. 
I  went  in.  The  threshold  and  part  of  the  floor  was 
weted  by  the  driving  rain.  The  wages-book  was 
open  on  the  desk,  George's  pen  stood  in  the  ink, 
and  his  hat  hung  on  its  usual  peg  in  the  corner. 
I  concluded,  of  course,  that  he  had  gone  round 
to  the  ovens,  so  following  him,  I  took  down  bis 
hat  and  carried  it  with  me,  for  it  was  now  rain- 
ing fast. 

The  baking-houses  lay  just  opposite,  on  the 
other  side  of  the  yard.  There  were  three  of  them, 
opening  one  out  of  the  other  ;  and  in  each,  the 
great  furnace  filled  all  the  middle  of  the  room. 
These  furnaces  are,  in  fact,  large  kilns  built  of 
brick,  with  an  oven  closed  in  by  an  iron  door  in 
the  centre  of  each,  and  a  chimney  going  up 
through  the  roof.  The  pottery,  enclosed  in  seg- 
pars,  stands  round  inside  on  shelves,  and  has  to  bo 
turned  from  time  to  time  while  the  firing  is  going 
on.  To  turn  these  seggars,  test  the  heat,  and  keep 
the  fire  up,  was  my  work  at  the  period  of  which 
I  am  now  telling  you,  Major. 

Well!  I  went  through  the  baking-houses  one 
after  the  other,  and  found  all  empty  alike.  Then 
a  strange  vague  uneasy  feeling  came  over  me, 
and  I  began  to  wonder  what  could  have  become 
of  George.  It  was  possible  that  he  might  be  in 
one  of  the  workshops ;  so  I  ran  over  to  the 
counting-house,  lighted  a  lantern,  and  made  a 
thorough  survey  of  the  yards.  1  tried  the  doors  ; 
they  were  all  locked  as  usual.  I  peeped  into  the 
opeh  sheds ;  they  were  all  vacant.  I  called 
"George!  George!"  in  every  part  of  the  outer 
premises;  but  the  wind  and  rain  drove  back  my 
voice,  and  no  other  voice  replied  to  it.  Forced 
at.  last  to  believe  that  he  was  really  gone,  I  took 
his  liat  back  to  the  counting-house,  put  away  the 
wages-book,  extinguished  the  gas,  and  prepared 
for  my  solitary  watch. 

The  night  was  mild,  and  the  heat  in  the  bak- 
ing-rooms  intense.  I  knew,  by  experience,  that 
the  ovens  had  been  overheated,  and  that  none  of 
the  porcelain  must  go  in  at  least  for  the  next  two 
hours;  so  I  carried  my  stool  to  the  door, 
myself  in  a  sheltered  corner  where  the  air  could 
reach  me,  but  not  the  rain,  and  fell  to  wonder- 
ing where  George  could  have    gone,  and  why  he 


MRS.    LIRRIPER'S   LODGINGS. 


45 


should  not  have  waited  till  the  time  appointed. 
That  he  had  left  in  haste  was  cleat — not  because 
his  hat  remained  behind,  for  he  might  have  had 
a  cap  with  him — but  because  he  had  left  the 
book  open,  and  the  gas  lighted.  Perhaps  one  of 
the  workmen  had  met  with  some  accident,  and 
he  had  been  summoned  away  so  urgently  that  he 
had  no  time  to  think  of  anything;  perhaps  he 
would  even  now  come  hack  present!}  to  - 
all  was  right  before  he  went  home  to  his  lodgings. 
Turning  these  things  over  in  my  mind,  I  grew 
drowsy,  my  thoughts  wandered,  and  I  fell  asleep. 

I  cannot  teH  how  long  my  nap  lasted.  I  had 
walked  a  great  distance  that  day,  and  I  slept 
heavily  :  but  I  awoke  all  in  a  moment,  with  a 
sort  of  terror  upon  me,  and,  looking  i 
George  Barnard  sitting  oy  a  stool  before  the 
oven  door,  with  the  firelight  full   Upon  his  face. 

Ashamed  to  be  found  sleeping,  I  started  to  my 
feet.  At  the  same  instant,  he  rose,  turned  away 
without  even  looking  towards  me,  and  went  out 
into  the  next  room. 

"Don't  be  angry,  George,"  I  cried,  following 
him.  "None  of  the  seggars'are  in.  I  knew  the 
fires  were  too  strong,  and " 

The  words  died  on  my  lips.  I  had  followed 
him  from  the  first  room  to  the  second,  from  the 
second  to  the  third,  and  in  the  third — 1  lust  him. 

I  could  not  believe  my  eyes.  I  opened  the  end 
door  leading  into  the  yard,  and  looked  out ;  but 
he  was  no  where  in  sight.  I  went  round  to  the 
hack  of  the  bakingdiouses,  looked  behind  the 
furnaces,  ran  over  to  the  counting-house,  called 
him  by  his  name  over  and  over  again  ;  but  all 
was  dark,  silent,  lonely,  as  ever. 

Then  I  (remembered  how  I  had  bolted  the 
outer  gate,  and  how  impossible  it  was  that  he 
should  have  come  in  without  ringing.  Then,  too, 
1  began  again  to  doubt  the  evidence  of  my  own 
senses,  and  to  think  I  must  have  been  dreaming. 

1  went  back  to  my  old  post  by  the  door  of  the 
first  baking-house,  and  sat  down  for  a  moment  to 
collect  my  thoughts. 

"In  the  first  place,"  said  I  to  myself,  "there 
is  but  one  outer  gate.  That  Outer  gate  I  bolted 
on  the  inside,  and  it  is  bolted  still.  In  the  next 
place,  1  searched  the  premises,  and  found  all  the 
sheds  empty;' and  the  workshop-doors  padlocked 
as  usual  on  the  outside.  I  proved  that  George 
was  nowhere  about,  when  I  came,  and  I  knew 
he  could  not  have  come  in  since,  without  my 
know  ledge.  Therefore  it  is  a  dream.  It  is  cer- 
tainly a  dream,  and  there's  an  end  of  it." 

And  with  this  1  trimmed  my  lantern  and  pro- 
ceeded to  test  the  temperature  of  the  furnaces. 
We  used  to  do  this,  I  should  tell  you,  by  the  in- 
troduction of  little  roughly-moulded  lumps  of 
common  fire-clay.     If  the  heat   istoo  great,  tlioy 


crack;  if  too  little,  they  remain  damp  and  moist  ; 
if  just  right, they  become  firm  and  smooth  all  over, 
and  pass  into  the  biscuit  stage.  Well,  I  took  my 
three  little  lumps  of  clay,  put  one  in  each  oven, 
waited  while  I  counted  five  hundred,  and  then 
went  round  again  to  see  the  results.  The  two 
first  were  in  capital  condition,  the  third  had 
(town  into  a  dozen  pieces.  This  proved  that  the 
might  at  once  go  into  ovens  One  and 
Two,  but  that  number  Three  had  been  overheat- 
ed, and  must  be  allowed  to  go  on  cooling  for  an 
hour  or  two  longer. 

1  therefore  stocked  One,  and  Two  with  nine 
rows  of' seggars,  three  deep  on  each  shelf;  left 
the  rest  waiting  till  number  Three  was  in  a  con- 
dition to  be  trusted;  and,  fearful  of  falling  asleep 
again,  now  that  the  tiring  was  in  progress,  walk- 
ed up  and  down  the  rooms  to  keep  myself  awake. 
This  was  hot  work,  however,  and  I  could  not 
stand  it  very  long  ;  so  I  went  back  presently  to 
my  stool  by  the  door,  and  fell  to  thinking  about 
my  dream.  The  more  I  thought  of  it,  the  more 
strangely  real  it.  seemed,  and  the  more  I  felt 
convinced  that  1  was  actually  on  my  feet,  when 
I  saw  George  get  up  anil  walk  into  the.  adjoining 
room.  I  was  also  certain  that  I  had  still  continued 
to  Bee  him  as  he  passed  out  of  the  second  room 
into  the  third,  and  that  at  that  time  I  was  even 
following  his  very  footseps.  Was  it  possible,  I 
asked  myself,  that  I  could  have  been  up  and 
moving,  and  yet  not  quite  awake  ?  I  had  heard 
of  people  walking  in  their  sleep.  Could  it  be  that 
I  was  walking  in  mine,  and  never  waked  till  I 
reached  the  cool  air  of  the  yard  ?  All  this  seem- 
ed likely  enough,  so  I  dismissed  the  matter  from 
my  mind,  and  passed  the  rest  of  the  night  in  at- 
tending to  the  Beggars,  adding  fresh  fuel  from 
time  to  time  to  the  furnaces  of  the  first,  and  sec- 
ond ovens,  and  now  and  then  taking  a  turn 
through  the  yards.  As  for  Number  Three,  it  kept 
Up  its  heat  to  such  a  degree  thai  it  was  almost 
day  before  I  dared  trust  the  Beggars  to  go  in  it. 

Thus  the  hours  went  by;  and  at  half-past  sev-" 
en  on  Thursday  morning,  the  men  came  to  their 
work.  It  was  now  my  turn  to  go  oil' duty,  but  I 
wanted  to  See  George  before  I  left,  and  so  wait- 
ed for  him  in  the  counting-house,  while  a  lad 
named  Steve  Storr  took  my  place  at  the  ovens. 
Hut  the  clock  went  on  from  half-past  seven  to  a 
quarter  to  eight ;  then  to  eight  o'clock;  then  to 
a  quarter-past  eight — and  still  George  never 
made  his  appearance.  At  length,  when  the  hand 
got  round  to  half-past  eight,  I  grew  Weary  of 
waiting,  look  up  my  hat,  ran  home,  went  to  bed, 
and  slept  profoundly  until  past  four  in  the  after- 
noon. 

That  evening  I  went  down  to  the  factory  quite 
early ;   for  1  had  a   resile»sues*   upon    mo,    and   I 


4G 


MES.  LIRRIPER'S  LODGINGS. 


wanted  to  see  George  before  he  left  for  the  night. 
This  time  I  found  the  gate  bolted,  and  I  rang  for 
admittance. 

"How  early  you  are,  Ben  !"  said  Steve  Storr, 
as  he  let  me  in. 

"Mr.  Barnard's  not  gone?"  I  asked  quickly, 
for  I  saw  at  the  first  glance  that  the  gas  was  out 
in  the  counting-house. 

"He's  not  gone,"  said  Steve,  "because  he's 
never  been." 

"Never  been  ?"  , 

"No  ;  and  what's  stranger  still,  he's  not  been 
home,  since  dinner  yesterday." 

"But  he  was  here  last  night '.'" 

"Oh  ves,  he  was  here  last  night,  making  up 
the  books.  John  Parker  was  with  him  till  past 
six;  and  ynu  found  him  here,  didn't  you,  at  half 
past  nine  ?" 

I  shook  my  head. 

"Well,  he's  gone,  anyhow.    Good  night!" 

"Good  night  !" 

I  took  the  lantern  from  his  hand,  bolted  him 
out  mechanically,  and  made  my  way  to  the  bak- 
ing-houses like  one  in  a  stupor.  George  gone? 
Gone  without  a  word  of  warning  to  his  employer, 
or  of  farewell  to  his  fellow-workmen  ?  I  could 
not  understand  it.  I  could  not  believe  it.  I  sat 
down  bewildered,  incredulous,  stunned.  Then 
come  hot  tears,  doubts,  terrifying  suspicions.  I 
remembered  the  wild  words  he  had  spoken  a  few 
nights  back;  the  strange  calm  by  which  they 
were  followed  ;  my  dream  of  the  evening  before. 
I  had  heard  of  men  who  dr.owned  themselves  for 
love;  and  the  turbid  Severn  ran  close  by — so 
close,  that  one  might  pitch  a  stone  into  it  from 
some  of  the  workshop  windows. 

These  thoughts  were  too  terrible.  I  dared  not 
dwell  upon  them.  I  turned  to  work,  to  free  my- 
self from  them,  if  I  could  ;  and  began  by  ex- 
amining the  ovens.  The  temperature  of  all  was 
much  higher  than  on  the  previous  night,  the 
heat  bavin?  been  gradually  increased  during  the 
last  twelve  hours.  It  was  now  my  business  to  keep 
the  heat  on  the  increase  for  twelve  more  ;  after 
which  it  would  be  allowed,  as  gradually,  to  sub- 
side, until  the  pottery  was  cool  enough  for  re- 
moval. To  turn  the  seggars,  and  add  fuel  to  fhe 
two  first  furnaces,  was  my  first  work.  As  before, 
I  found  number  three  in  advance  of  the  others, 
and  so  left  it  for  half  an  hour,  or  an  hour.  I  then 
went  round  the  yard :  tried  the  doors  ;  let  the 
dog  loose;  and  brought  him  back  with  me  to  the 
baking-houses,  for  company.  After  that  I  set  my 
lantern  on  a  shelf  beside  the  door,  took  a  book 
from  my  pocket,  and  began  to  read. 

I  remember  the  title  of  the  book  as  well  as 
possible.  It  wad  called  Bowlker's  Art  of  Angling, 


and  contained  little,  rude  cuts  of  all  kinds  of  arti- 
ficial flies,  hooks  and  other  tackle.  But  I  could 
not  keep  my  mind  to  it  for  two  minutes  together; 
and  at  last  I  gave  it  up  in  despair,  covered  my 
face  with  my  hands,  and  fell  into  a  long  absorb- 
ing painful  train  of  thought.  A  considerable  time 
had  gone  by  thus — may  be  an  hour— when  I  was 
roused  by  a  low  whimpering  howl  from  Captain, 
who  was  lying  at  my  feet.  I  looked  up  with  a 
start,  just  as  I  had  started  the  night  before,  and 
with  the  same  vague  terror;  and  saw,  exactly  in 
the  same  place  and  in  the  same  attitude,  with 
the  firelight  full  upon  him — George4  Barnard  ! 

At  this  sight,  a  fear  heavier  than  the  fear  of 
death  fell  upon  me,  and  my  tongue  seemed  par- 
alysed in  my  mouth.  Then,  just  as  last  night,  he 
rose,  or  seemed  to  rise,  and  went  slowly  out  into  ■ 
the  next  room.  A  power  stronger  than  myself 
appeared  to  compel  me,  reluctantly,  to  follow  him. 
I  saw  him  pass  through  the  second  room — cross 
the  threshold  of  the  third  room — walk  straight 
up  to  the  oven — and  there  pause.  He  then  turn- 
ed, for  the  first  time,  with  the  glare  of  the  red 
firelight  pouring  out  upon  him  from  the  open 
door  of  the  furnace,  and  looked  at  me,  face  to 
face.  In  the  same  instant  his  whole  frame  and 
countenance  seemed  to  glow  and  become  trans- 
parent, as  if  the  fire  were  all  within  him — and  in 
that  glow  he  became,  as  it  were,  absorbed  into 
the  furnace,  and  disappeared. 

I  uttered  a  wild  cry,  tried  to  ^stagger  from  the 
room,  and  fell  insensibl*  before  I  reached  tho 
door. 

When  I  next  opened  my  eyes  the  gray  dawn 
was  in  the  sky ;  the  furnace  doors  were  all  closed 
as  I  had  left  them  when  I  last  went  round ;  the 
cfog  was  quietly  sleeping  not  far  from  my  side  ; 
and  the  men  were  ringing  at  the  gate,  to  be  let  in. 
I  told  my  tale  from  beginning  to  end,  and  was 
laughed  at,  as  a  matter  of  §ourse,  by  all  who 
heard  it.  When  it  was  found,  however,  that  my 
statement  never  varied,  and,  above  all,  that 
George  Barnard  continued  absent,  some  few 
began  to  talk  it  over  seriously,  and  among  those 
few  the  master  of  the  works.  He  forbade  the 
furnace  to  be  cleared  out,  called  in  the  aid  of  a 
celebrated  naturalist,  and  had  the  ashes  submit- 
ted to  a  scientific  examination.  The  result  was 
as  follows : 

The  ashes  were  found  to  have  been  largely  sat- 
urated with  some  kind  of  fatty  animal  matter.  A 
considerable  portion  of  those  ashes  consisted  of 
charred  bone.  A  semi-circular  piece  of  iron, 
which  evidently  had  once  been  the  heel  of  a 
workman's  heavy  boot,  was  found,  hah  fused,  at 
one  corner  of  the  furnace.  Near  it  a  tibia  bone, 
which  still  retained  sufficient  of  its  original  form 
and    textturc    to  render   identification    possible. 


MRS.  LIRRIPER'S  LODGINGS. 


47 


This  bone,  however,  was  so  much  charred,  that  it 
fell  into  powder  on  being  handled. 

After  this,  not  many  doubted  that  George  Bar- 
nard had  been  foully  murdered,  and  that  his 
body  had  been  trust  into  the  furnace.  Suspicion 
fell  upon  Louis  Laroche.  He  was  arrested,  o  cui- 
oner's  inquest  was  held,  and  every  circumstance 
connected  with  the  night  of  the  murder  was  as 
thorouhgly  sifted  and  investigated  as  possible,  All 
the  sifting  in  the  world,  however,  failed  either  to 
clear  or  to  condemn  Louis  Laroche.  On  the  very 
night  of  his  release  he  left  the  place  by  the  mail 
train,  andwas  never  seen  or  heard  of  there  again. 
As  for  Leah,  I  know  not  what  became  of  her.  I 
went  away  myself  before  many  weeks  were  over, 
and  never  have  set  foot  among  the  Potteries  from 
that  hour  to  this. 


VI. 

HOW    THE     BEST     ATTIC     WAS     UNDER    A    CLOUD. 

Majok,  you  have  assured  me  of  your  sympa- 
thy ;  you  shall  receive  my  confidence.  I  not  only 
seem — as  you  have  searehingly  observed, — "under 
a  cloud,"  but  I  am.  I  entered  (shall  I  say  like  a 
balloon  ?)  into  a  dense  stratum  of  cloud,  obscur- 
ing the  wretched  earth  from  view,  in  the  year 
eighteen  hundred  and  dash,  in  the  sweet  summer 
season,  when  nature,  as  has  been  remarked  by 
some  distinguished  poet,  puts  on  her  gayest  garb, 
and  when  her  countenance  is  adorned  with  the 
sunniest  and  loveliest  of  smiles.  Ah!  what  are 
now  those  smiles  to  me  ?  What  care  I  for  sun- 
shine or  tor   verdure  ?      For   me,  summer  is   no 

»i ■     For,  I  most  ever  remember  that   itwasin 

the  summer  that  canker  ate  its  way  into  my  heart's 
core  — that  it  was  in  the  summer  that  I  parted 
with  my  belief  in  mankind — that  it  was  in  summer 
that  I  knew  for  the  first  time  that  woman — but 
this  is  premature.      Pray  be  seated. 

I  have  no  doubt  that  my  appearance  ami  words 
convey  to  you,  Major,  and  to  all  observant  per- 
sOns,  that  I  have  an  elevated  soul.  In  fact,  wen- 
it  otherwise,  how  could  I  be  Under  a  cloud  ?  The 
sordid  soul  won't  blight.  To  one  possessing  an 
elevated  soul  like  myself,  the  task  of  keeping  ac- 
counts at  a  ferrier's  (in  a  large  way)  could  not 
be  otherwise  than  repugnant.  It  was  repugnant, 
and  the  rapture  of  getting  a  holiday,  which  was 
annually  accorded  me  in  June — not  a  busy  month 
in  the  fur-trade — was  something  perfectly  inde- 
scribable Ofcourse,  whenever  my  vacation  time 
came  round,  I  invariably  rushed  off  to  the  coun- 
try ;  there  to  indulge  my  natural  tastes  and  com- 
mune with  our  mother,  Nature. 

On  the  particular  occasion  of  which  I  have  now 
•  '>;,  I  had,  however,   other    commit! 
look   forward   to,  betides    those   in  which    nature 
takes  hersilentyet  eloquent  part.   I  loved-  Aha  ! 


— Love— Woman — Vertigo— Despair— I  beg  your 
pardon — I  will  be  calm.  I  loved  Miss  Nuttlebury. 
Miss  Nuttlebury  lived  in  the  neighbourhood  of 
Hartford  (at  a  convenient  distance  from  the  Pow- 
der-Mills), so  in  the  neighbourhood  of  Durtford 
(rather  further  from  the  Powder-Mills)  I  deter- 
mined to  spend  my  vacation.  I  made  arrange- 
;  a  certain  small  roadside  inn  for  my  board 
and  lodging.  • 

I  was  acquainted — nay,  I  was  on  friendly  terms 
with  the  Nuttlehurys.  Mr.  Nuttlebury,  a  land  sur- 
veyor in  a  rather  small  way,  was  an  old  friend  of 
my  father's;  so  I  had  access  to  the  house.  I  had 
access  also,  as  I  thought,  to  the  heart  of  Mary, 
which  was  Miss  Nuttlebury's  name.  If  I  was  mis- 
taken— Aha! — but  lam  again  premature.  You 
are  aware,  orperhaps  you  arc  not  aware,  that  my 
name  is  Oliver  Cromwell  Shrubsole — so  called 
after  the  great  Protector  of  British  rights;  tho 
man  who,  or  rather  hut  for  whom — but  I  am  again 
premature,  or  rather,  I  should  say,  on  the  whole 
the  reverse. 

The  first  days  of  my  residence  near  Fordleigh, 
the  name  of  the  village  where  the  Nuttleburys 
dwelt,  were  happy  in  the  extreme.  I  saw  much  of 
Mary.  I  walked  with  Mary,  made  hay  with  Mary, 
observed  the  moon  in  Mary's  society,  and  in  vain 
sought  to  interest  Mary  in  those  mysterious  shad- 
ows which  diversify  the  surface  of  that  luminary. 
I  subsequently  endeavoured  to  interest  the  fair 
girl  in  other  matters  nearer  home — in  short,  in 
myself;  and  I  fondly  imagined  that  I  succeeded 
in  doing  so. 

One  day,  when  I  had  dropped  in  at  the  family 
dinner-hour — not  from  base  motives,  for  I  was 
boarded  at  my  inn  by  contract — I  found  the  family 
conversing  on  a  subject  which  caused, me  consi- 
derable uneasiness.  At  the  moment  of  my  arrival, 
Mr.  Nuttlebury  was  uttering  these  words  : 

"At what  time  will  he  he  here,  then?"      (He  ?)  . 

I  listened  breathless,  after  the  first  s alutation 
had  passed,  for  more  ;  I  was  not  long  in  ascer- 
taining that  "he"  was  a  cousin  of  Mary's,  who  was 
coming  down  to  spend  some  days  at  Fordleigh, 
and  whose  arrival  was  anticipated  by  the  whole 
family  with  expressions  of  delight.  The  younger 
hoy  and  girl  Nuttleburys  seemed  to  fie  especially 
rapturous  at  the  prospect  <>f  the  Beast's  arrival, 
and  from  this  I  augured  ill.  Altogether,  I  felt  that 
there  was  a  trying  scene  coming  ;  thai  my  oppor- 
tunities of  converse  with  my  soul's  idol  would  he 
fewer  than  they  had  been,  and  that  general  dis- 
comfort and  misery  were  about    to  ensue.      I  was 

(  Iho  ! — I  beg  your  pardon — I  will  he  calm. 
The  Beast,  "He,"  arrived  in  of  that 

very  afternoon,  and  I  believe   I    am    not  speaking 

'i.: ly  in  affirming    that   w< "he"  and   I — 

hated  e  diallvirom  the   first   moment 


48 


MRS.  LIRRIPER'S  LODGINGS. 


of  our  exchanged  glances.  He  was  an  under- 
hand looking  beast,  short  of  .stature;  such  a  crea- 
ture as  any  high-souled  woman  should  have  ab- 
horred the  sight  of;  but  his  prospects  were  good, 
he  having  some  small  situation  in  the  Custom- 
house, on  the  strength  of  which  he  gave  himself 
airs,  as  if  he  was  a  member  of  the  government ; 
and  when  he  talked  of  the  country,  he  spoke  of  it 
as  "we."  Alas!  how  could  I  compete  with  him  ? 
What  could  I  talk  about,  except  the  fur-trade, 
and  the  best  method  of  keeping  the  moths  under  ? 
So,  having  nothing  to  talk  about,  I  remained 
sulky  and  glum  and  silent ;  a  condition  in  which 
a  man  does  not  usually  tell  to  advantage  in  society. 
I  felt  that  I  was  not  telling  to  advantage,  and 
this  made  me  hate  the  beast — whose  disgusting 
name  was  Huffell — more  cordially  than  before. 
It  affords  me  a  gloomy  pleasure  to  think  that  I 
never  once  lost  an  opportunity  of  contradicting 
him— flat — in  the  course  of  that  first  evening. 
But,  somehow  or  other,  he  generally  got  the  best 
of  it ;  possibly  because  I  had  contradicted  him  for 
the  sake  of  doing  so,  and  without  bestowing  a 
thought  upon  the  rights  or  wrongs  of  the  matter 
under  discussion.  But  the  worst  of  it  was,  that 
it  did  appear  to  me  that  Mary — my  Mary — seem, 
ed  to  be  on  the  side  of  Huffell.  Her  eyes  would 
brighten — or  I  thought  so — when  he  triumphed. 
And  what  right  had  she  to  go  and  fig  herself  out 
like  that,  in  all  her  finery  for  Huffell  ?  She  never 
did  so  for  me. 

"This  must  be  put  a  stop  to,  and  promptly,"  I 
muttered  to  myself,  as  I  walked  back  to  my  inn  in 
a  state  of  the  most  intense  fury.  And  to  leave  bin, 
there  with  the  field  all  to  himself!  What  miirht 
he  not  be  saying  of  me  at  the  moment  ?  Turning 
me  into  ridicule,  perhaps  ?  I  resolved  to  crush 
him  next  day,  or  perish  in  the  attempt. 

Next  day  I  lay  in  wait  for  him,  and  presently  I 
thought  my  opportunity  had  come. 

"Wk  shall  have  to  make  some  change  about 
that  appointment  of  Sit  Cornelius,"  said  Huffell, 
"or  he'll  have  all  his  family  in  the  office  in  a 
week  " 

"What  do  you  mean  by  weV  I  asked,  with 
ferocious  emphasis. 

"I  mean  government,"  he  answerred,  cooly. 

"Well  but  yoxCxe  not  government,"  was  my 
dignified  reply.  "The  Custom  house,  even  as 
represented  by  those  who  hold  high  positions  in 
it,  has  as  little  to  do  with  governing  the  country  as 
can  well  be  imagined.  The  higher  officers  in  the 
Custom-house  are  at  best  rather  government  ser- 
vants than  government  advisers,  while  the 
lower — " 

"Well  sir, 'the  lower?'" 

"The  less  they  try  to  connect  themselves  with 
their  betters  by  talking  about 'we,'  the  better  for 
all  parties."     I  said  this  in  a  scathing  manner,  and 


feeling  painfully  warm  in  the  forehead. 

"You're  talking  about  what  you  don't  under- 
stand, sir,"  said  the  exciseman  or  the  tide-waiter, 
or  whatever  be  was  IVe're  all  in  the  same  boat. 
Pray  do  you  never  say  'we'  when  talking  of  your' 
master's  shop  ?" 

"Master's  shop,  sir?" 

"Oh,  I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  he,  mockingly, 
"aren't  you  acashierin  a  fur-shop  ?" 

Shop  !  Fur-shop!  I  could  have  seen  him — seen 
him — moth  eaten. 

"I'll  tell  you  what  I'm  not,  sir,"  I  burst  out, 
losing  self-control,  "1  am  not  the  man  to  put  up 
with  the  con — foun — ded  impudence  of  an  obscure 
tide-waiter." 

"Tide-waiter!"  repeated  the  Beast,  starting  to 
his  feet. 

"Tide-waiter,"  I  calmjy  reiterated. 

At  this,  the  whole  family  of  the  Nuttleburys, 
who  had  hitherto  appeared  to  be  paralysed,  in- 
terposed, one  screeching  out  one  thing,  another 
yelling  another.  But  they  were  all — Mary  and  all 
— against  me,  and  affirmed  that  I  had  purposely 
picked  a  quarrel  with  their  relation — which,  by- 
the-by,  I  rather  think  I  had.  The  unpleasantness 
ended  in  Mr.  Nuttleburry's  requesting  me,  in  so 
many  words,  to  withdraw. 

"After  what  has  occurred  there  is  nothing  left 
forme,  but  to  do  so,"  I  remarked,  making  tow- 
ards the  door  with  much  majesty  ;  bilt  if  Mr. 
Huffeil  thinks  that  he  has  heard  the  last  of  this, 
he  is  a  good  deal  mistaken.  As  for  you,  Mary," 
I  continued  ;  but  before  I  could  complete  my  sen- 
tence I  experienced  a  sensation  of  an  elderly 
hand  in  my  coat-collar,  and  found  myself  in  the 
passage,  with  the  room  door  closed  against  me. 
I  lost  no  time  in  vacating  this  ignominous  posi- 
tion, and  seeking  the  open  air.  Presently  I  found 
myself  at  my  desk  writing  to  Dewsnap. 

Dewsnap  was  then  my  greatest  friend.  He  was, 
like  me,  in  the  fur  business,  and  was  a  fine  hon- 
ourable upright  noble  fellow,  as  bold  as  brass, 
and  always  especially  sensitive  about  the  point  of 
honour.  To  this  friend  I  wrote  a  long  account  of 
all  that  had  happened ;  asking  his  advice.  I  men- 
tioned at  the  end  of  my  letter  that  I  was  onljr 
restrained  by  the  want  of  a  pair  of  pistols,  from 
inviting  this  wretched  being  to  a  hostile  meeting. 

The  next  day  I  passed  in  retirement,  specu- 
lating much  on  what  Dewsnap's  answer  would 
be.  It  was  a  day  of  heavy  rain,  and  I  had  plenty 
of  time  to  mourn  over  my  exclusion  from  the 
cheerful  abode 'of  the  Nuttleburys,  and  to  reflect 
how  much  better  off  my  rival  was  (sunning  him- 
self in  my  adored  one's  smiles)  than  I,  a  lonely 
exile,  flattening  my  nose  against  the  window  of  a 
country  inn,  and  watching  the  drippings  of  the 
root-drain  as  they  splashed,  into  the  fast-filling 
water-butt.    It  is  needless  to  say  that  I  retired  to 


MRS.  LIRRIPEKS  LODGINGS. 


rest  early,and  that  I  was  unable  to  sleep. 

I  could  sleep  next  morning,  however,  and  did 
s>  till  a  late  hour.  1  was  aroused  From  a  heavy 
slumber,  by  a  loud  knocking  ui  my  door,  and  the 
sound  of  a  voice  which  1  seemed  to  recognize. 

"Here,  Shrubsole  !  Hi,  Oliver!  Let  me  in. 
Shrubsole,  what  u  lazy  follow  you  are  !" 

Gracious  Heaven,  was  it  possible  ?    Was  it  the 
voice  of  Dewsnap  ?     1    rose,  unlocked  the  door, 
.  and  jumped  into  bed  again. 

Yes,  it  was  my  friend.  He  entered  erect,  vig- 
orous, energetic  as. usual,  deposited  a  small  carpet- 
bag near  the  door,  and,  retaining  u  curious-look- 
ing oblong  mahogany  box  under  his  aim,  advan- 
ced to  tfreet  me. 

"What  on  earth  do  you  do  lying  in  bed  at  this 
time  of  the  day?"  said  Dewsnap,  grasping  my 
hand. 

"I  couldn't  sleep  till  morning  came,"  I  answer- 
ed, passing  my.  hand  athwart,  my  brow.  "But 
how  did  you  get  away  ?" 

"Oh,  I've  got  a  few  days' holiday,  and  am  come 
down  to  answer  your  letter  in  person.  Well  1 
How's  this  affair  going  on  ?" 

"Do  not  ask  me,"  I  groaned.  "It  has  made 
me  wretched.  1  know  no  more.  You  don't  know- 
how  fond  I  was  of  that  girl." 

"Well,  and  you  shall  have  her  yet       I'm  going 
to  settle  it  all  foryou  "  said  Dewsnap,  confidently. 
"What  do^ou  mean  to  do  ?"  I  asked  with  some 
hesitation. 

"Do  ?  Why,  there's  only  one  thing  to  do  ?"  He 
rattled  the  queer-looking  mahogany  box  as 
though  it  contained  metallic  pills. 

"What  have  you  got  in  that  box  !"    I  asked. 
"There's    a    pair  of  pistols    in  this   box,"  said 
Dewsnap,  proudly,    "with  either   one  of  which  it 
would    almost    be  a   pleasure    to    find    yourself 

d." 

"Sir  1"  I  observed,  sitting  up  in  bed  with  mark- 
ed displeasure. 

"You  mentioned  your  difficulty  about  weapons, 
so  I  borrowed  them  of. a  friend  of  mine — a  gun- 
maker — and  brought  them  down  with  me." 

"Hang  him!"  I  thought,   "bow   very   prompt 
he  has  been  about  it.     Amazingly  prompt,   to  be 
\  sure.— You  think,  then,"    I  added,  aloud,  "that 
DO— BO  other  way  out  of  the  difficulty '?" 

''Apology,"  sai'l  Dewsnap,  who  bad  now  open- 

*  l  the  box,  and  was  clicking  away  with    the  lock 

i  of  the  weapons,  with  the  muzzle  directed 

towards  my  head — "ample apology  on  tin  pan  of 
theothcrsidi — is  the  only  alternative.  Written 
apology,  in  | 

"Ah,"  I  replied,  "I  don't  think  the  other  side 
will  agree  to  that." 

'•Then,"  saiil  my  friend,  extending  his  pistol, 
and  uiming  at  a  portrait  of  the  Marquis  of  Grun- 


4!' 
then   we    must 


by  hanging  over  the  fire-place 
put  a  bullet  into  the  exciseman. " 

(And  8upposethe  exciseman  puts  a  bullet  into 
me,  I  thought  to  myself.     So  erratic  is  thought  !) 

"Where  does  the  exciseman  live?"  inquired 
my  friend,  putting  on  his  hat.  "There  is  nol  a 
moment  to  be  lost   in  these  cases." 

"Wail  till  I'm  dressed,"  I  remonstrated,  "and 
I'll  show  you.     Or  you  can  go  after  breakfast." 

"Not  a  bit  of  it.  The  people  down  stairs  will 
tell  me  where  to  find  him.  NuttlaburyV  I  think 
you  said?  I'll  be  there  and  back  by  the  time. 
you're  ready  for  breakfast." 

He  was  out  of  the  room  almost  before  lie  had 
done  speaking,  and  I  was  left  to  make  mj  toil  t 
and  improve  my  appetite  for  breakfast  with  the 
reflection  that  the  number  of  such  meals  in  store 
for  me  was,  perhaps,  more  limited  than  I  could 
have  wished.  Perhaps  la  little  regretted  bavin- 
put  the  affair  into  the  bands  of  my  energetic 
friend.  So  erratic  (I  may  again  remark)  is  hu- 
man thought! 

I  waited  some  time  for  my  friend,  but  was 
obliged  at  last  to  begin  breakfast  without  him. 
As  the  meal  was  approaching  its  termination,  I 
saw  him  pass  the  window  of  the  little  parlour-  in 
which  I  took  my  meals,  and  immediately  after- 
wards he  entered  the   room. 

"Well,"  he  said,  sitting  down  at  the  table  and 
commencing  a.  vigorous  attack  on  the  eatables, 
"it  is  as  expected.  We  are  driven  to  extrem- 
ities." 

"What  do  you  mean  ?"   I  asked. 
"I  mean,"  remarked  Dewsnap,  chipping  awav 
at  his  egg,  "that  the  other  side   declines    to    apo- 
logize,  and    that    consequently    the     other  side 
must  be  bowled  down  ; — shot." 

"Oh  dear  me. "  I  said — relenting,  Major,  re- 
lenting— "I  shouldn't  like  to  do  that." 

"You  wouldn't  like  to  do  that  1  Ma\  I  ask  Mr. 
Shrubsole,  what  you  mean  by  that  remark  ?" 

"I  mean  that,  that — is  there  no  other  way  out 
of  it  '" 

"  Now  look  here,  Shrubsol","  said  my  com- 
panion, with  a  severe  air,  and  suspending  for  a 
moment  his  attack  on  the  breakfast;  "  you  have 
put  this  affair  in  my'  hands,  and  you  must  allow 
arry  it  through,  according  to  the  laws  of 
honour.  It  i9  extremely  painful  to  me  to  be  en- 
tered in  such  an  affair"  (I  couldn't  help  think- 
inp  thai  he  seemed  rather  to  enjoy  it),  "  but,  be- 
in  it,  I  shall  go  through  with  it  to 
the  end.    Come  \    We'll  gel  these  things  ■ 

Lnd  then  you  shall  sit  down  and  write  s 
formal  challenge,  which  I  will  undertake  to  de- 
liver in  the  proper  quarter." 

nap  was  loo  much  for  m^.  He  sepmed 
te  have  all  the  right  phraaes  at  his  tougue'a  end  , 


£u 


MRS.  LIKRIPER'S  LODGINGS. 


he  was  so  tremendously  well-informed  as  to 
what  was  the  right  thing  to  do,  and  the  right 
thing  to  say  when  conducting  an  affair  of  this 
kind,  that  I  could  not  help  asking  him  whether 
he  had  ever  been  engaged  in  one  before  ?" 

"  No,"  he  said,  "  no:  but  I  believe  I  have  a 
sort  of  aptitude  for  the  kind  of  thing.  Indeed, 
I  have  always  felt  that  I  should  be  in  my  element 
in  arranging  the  details  of  an  affair  of  honour." 
"  How  you  would  enjoy  being  a  principal  in- 
stead of  a  second  !"  I  said — rather  maliciously  ; 
for  Dewsnap's  alacrity  aggravated  me. 

"  No,  not  a  bit,  my  dear  fellow.  I  take  such 
an  interest  in  this  affair  that  I  identify  myself 
with  you  entirely,  and  quite  feel  as  if  I  was  a 
principal." 

^TLen  you  feel  a  very  curious  sensation  about 
the  pit  of  the  stomach,  my  boy,  I  thought  to  my- 
self. I  did  not  however  give  the  thought  ex- 
pression. I  merely  mention  it  as  an  instance  of 
the  erratic  nature  of  thought  ) 

"  By-the-by,"  remarked  Dewsnap,  as  he  pock- 
eted my  challenge  and  prepared  to  depart,  "  I 
forgot  to  mention  that  one  or  two  fellows  of  our 
acquaintance  are  coming  down." 

"  One  or  two  fellows  ?"  I  repeated,  in  a  high- 
ly displeased,  nay,  crushing  tone. 

"Yes,  Cripps  is  coming,  and  Fowler,  and  per- 
haps Kershaw,  if  he  can  get  away.  We  were 
talking  your  affair  over,  the  evening  before  I  left, 
and  they  were  all  so  much  interested  in  it — for 
I  predicted  from  the  first  that  there  must  be  a 
meeting— that  they're  all  coming  down  to  see 
you  through  it." 

How  I  cursed  my  own  folly  in  having  entrust- 
ed the  keeping  of  my  honour  to  this  dreadfully 
zealous  friend  of  mine!  I  thought,  as  he  march- 
ed off  erect  and  fussy  with  that  wretched  chal- 
lenge in  his  pocket,  that  there  was  something 
positively  bloodthirsty  about  the  man.  And  then 
those  other  fellows  coming  down  for  the  express 
purpose  of  seeing  somebody  shot !  For  that 
was  their  purpose,  I  felt.  I  fully  believed  that, 
if  by  any  fortunate  chance  there  should  be  no 
blood  shed,  those  so-called  friends  of  mine 
would  go  away  disgusted. 

The  train  of  reflection  into  which  I  had  fallen 
was  interrupted  at  this  juncture,  by  the  appear- 
ance outside  the  window,  of  three  human  figures. 
These  turned  out,  on  inspection,  to  be  no  other 
than  the' individuals  whose  taste  for  excitement 
I  had  been  condemning  so  strongly  in  my  own 
mind.  There  they  were,  Messrs!  Cripps,  Fow- 
ler, and  Kershaw,  grinning  and  gesticulating  at 
me  through  the  window,  like  vulgar  unfeeling 
idiots  as  they  were.  And  one  of  them  (I  think 
it  was  Cripps)  had  the  brutality  to  put  himself 
into  the  attitude  supposed  to  be  the  correct  one 
for  a  duellist,  with  his  left  hand  behind  his  back, 


and  his  right  raised  as  if  to  discharge  an  imagin- 
ary pistol 

They  were  in  the  room  with  me  directly,  large 
noisy,  and  vulgar,  laughing  and  guffawing — mak- 
ing comments  on  my  appearance,  asking  me  if  I 
had  made  my  will,  what  I  had  left  to  each  of 
them,  and  otherwise  conducting  themselves  in  a 
manner  calculated  to  turn  one's  milk  of  human 
kindness  to  bitterest  gal).  How  they  enjoyed  it! 
When  they  learned  that  Dewsnap  was  actually 
at  that  time  away  on  a  war  mission,  and  that  he 
might  return  at  any  moment  with  the  fatal  an- 
swer— I  say  when  they  heard  that,  they  positively 
gloated  over  me.  They  sat  down  and  stared  at 
me,  and  every  now  and  then  one  of  fhcm  would 
say,  with  a  low,  chuckling  giggle,  "  I  say,  old 
fellow!  How  do  you  feel  about  it  now  ?"  It  was 
a  hideous  relief  to  me  when  Dewsnap  returned 
with  the  baleful  news  that  the  challenge  was  ac- 
cepted, and  that  the  meeting  was  appointed  for 
the  next  morning  at  eight  o'clock. 

Those  ruffians  enjoyed  themselves  that  after- 
noon to  the  utmost.  They  had  such  a  pleasure 
in  store  for  next  day,  that  it  gave  an  added  zest 
to  everything  they  did.  It  sharpened  their  appe- 
tites, it.  stimulated  their  thirst,  it  imparted  to  the 
skittles,  with  which  they  amused  themselves  dur- 
ing the  afternoon,  an  additional  charm.  The 
evening  was  devoted  to  conviviality.  Dewsnap, 
after  spending  some  time  in  oiling  the  triggers 
of  the  pistols,  remarked  that  now  they  were  in 
such  prime  condition,  that  they  would  "  snap  a 
fellow's  head  off,  almost  without  his  knowing  it." 
This  inhuman  remark  was  made  at  the  moment 
when  we  were  separating  for  the  night. 

I  past  the  greater  part  of  the  dark  hours  in 
writing  letters  of  farewell  to  my  relations  and  in 
composing  a  stinger  for  Miss  Mary  Nuttleburv, 
which  I  trusted  would  embitter  the  whole  of  her 
future  life.  Then  I  threw  myself  on  my  bed — 
which  was  not  wholly  devoid  of  knobs — and 
found  for  a  few  hours  the  oblivion  I  desired. 

We  were  first  on  the  ground.     Indeed,  it  was 
necessary  that  we  should  be,  as  those  three  fero- 
cious Anabaptists,  Cripps,  Fowler,  and  Kershaw, 
had  to  be  stowed  away  in  places  of  concealment 
whence  they  could    see  without  being  seen  ;  but 
even   when  this  stowage  had  been  accomplished 
and    the   fatal   hour  had   arrived,    we  were  still 
kept  waiting  so  long  that  a  faint  hope — i 
ing,  I  meant  to  say — began   to  dawn  in  my  heart 
that  my  adversary  had  been  seized  with  a  sudden 
panic,  and  had   fled  at   the  last  moo 
me  master  of  the  situation,  with  a  blood!. 
tory. 

The  sound  of  voices,  and  of  laughter — laughter 
— reached  me   while    I  was  musing  on  tli 
pect  of  an    honourable  escape   from    my   perilous 
position.      In    another    moment    my   anta" 


MRS.  LIRRIPER'S  LODGINGS. 


51 


Slil]    talking   and  laughing  with  some   one  who 

closely   followed  him,  jumped  over  a  stilt-  at  the 

■side  of    the   field    in   which    we    awaited    him. 

ng  in  the  most  impudent  manner,   my  an- 

lircd    of  his    second,   who  was    the 

's  assistant,  whether  he  was  a 

!    ml  hand  :ii  patching  up  bullet  wounds? 

It  was  at    this  moment  that  an   accident  oc- 
curred   which   caused   a   small   delay  in   our  pro- 
I  Ine    of   tin-   Anabaptists — Cripps  — 
had,  with   a  view  to   concealment,   and   also  per- 
haps with  a  view    to   keeping   out  of  harm's  way, 
.!  himself  in    a    tree-  which  commanded  a 
f  the  field  of  action  ;  bjtn  not  having 
it  caution   in  the  choice  of  his  posi- 
tion, hi  ted   In's  weight  to  a  bpugfa  which 
provel  unequal  to  the  task  of  sustaining  it.     Con- 
ly  it   happened   that  just  as  the  seconds 
beginning   their;  preliminary  arrangements, 
and  during   an  awful   pause,  the    unlucky  Cripps 
ng  and  crashing  to  the  ground,  where 
the  foot  of  the   tree  in  a 
F  undignified  ruin  and  prostration. 
tins  there  was  a  prodigious  row  and  eon- 
opponcnl    having   thus   discovi  red 
that  there  was  one  person  observing  ourproceed- 
in  a  place  of  concealment,  concluded  nap 
Orally   enough    that  there  might  he  others.     Ac- 
search    wis    promptly    instituted, 
!    in    the  unearthing  of  "my  two  other 
friends,  who  were  obliged  to  rom  their 
-  in  a  very  humiliated  and  crestfallen 
ion.      My  adversary    would     not     hear    of 
luel   in   the  presence  of  so   li 

ded    in    the    three   brutal 
Anabaptists  being— very  much  to  my  satisfaction 

•pearance  they 
te  pathway  in 
the    most    abject  thing  I  have 
•held. 

losed  of,  lb-  i  e  remained 
if  the  day  to  S'ttle,  and  it  took 
at     d<  til    <<i'  settlement.      There  were   diver- 
detail    connected 
with  the  murderous  operations.     There  wi  redis- 
ibout   the   i  «  Inch    should 

■    combatants,    about    the    length    of 
•  the  proper  method  of  loading 
;  best  way  of  gi\  ii 

r\  thing.      Hut   what  d 
me   m  le  levity  displayed  by  my  oppo- 

1    to   think   the  whole 
cring    and     -  it  every 

iked  myself,  thi 

when  abou 

it  I 

preliminaries  were 
I,    and   Mr.  HufTell   and  I  i    main-  I 


defiance  at  each  other  with  a  distance  of  only 
twelve  paces  between  ns.  The  beast  was  grin- 
ning even  now,  and  when  he  was  asked  for  the 
last  time  whether  he  was  prepared  to  make  an 
apology,  he  absolutely  lau( 

It  had  been  arranged  that  one  of  the  second*! 
Hnffell's  us  it  happened,  should  count  one,  two, 
three,  and  that  at  the  word  "  three"  we  should 
both  fire  (if  we  could)  at  the  same  moment. 
My  heart  felt  so  tight  at  about  this  period,  that 
I  fancied  it  must  have  contracted  to  half  its  usual 
size,  and  1  had  a  Sensation  of  being  light  on  my 
legs,  and  inordinately  tall,  such  as  one  has  after 
having  had  a  fever. 

"One!"  said  the  apothecary,  and  the  mono- 
syllable was   followed  by  quite  a  long  pause. 

"  Two  !" 

"  Stop  !"  cried  a  voice,  whi~h  I  recognized  n* 
the  voice  of  adversary,  "  I  have  something  to 
say." 

I  whisked  myself  round  in  n  moment,  and  saw 
that  Mr.  HufTell  had  thrown  his  weapon  down 
on  the  gromtd,  and  had  left  the  position  which 
had  been  assigned  him. 

What  have  you  to  say,  sir?:'  asked  the  in- 
exorable Dewsnap,  in  a  severe  tone;  "whatever 
it  is,  von  have  chosen  a  most  extraordinary  mo- 
ment to  say  it  in." 

"  I  have  (hanged  my  mind,"  said  Mr.  HufTell, 
in  a  lachrymose  tone  ;  "  I  think  that  duelling  is 
sinful,  and  1  consent  to  apologize." 

Astounded  as  I  was  at  thi  announcement,  I 
had  yet  leisure  to  observe  that  the  apothecary 
did  not  look  in  the  least  surprised  at  what  had 
happened. 

"  You  consent  to  apologize  /  '  asked  Dewsnsjp, 

III   to  the  lady,    to  express  your 
deep  contrition    for  the  insoli  nt  expression*  you 
have  made  use  ol   towards  mj  friend  t 
onsent,-'  was  the  reply. 

"  We  musl  have  it  all  down  m  writing,  mind  1" 
stipulated  my  uncomprising  friend. 

shall  have  it  all  down    in  writing,"   said 
the  contrite  one.  g 

"  We'd,  this  is  a  most  ext  ii'udinan  and  un- 
satisfai  '  I   thingr"  said  Dewsnap,  turn- 

ing to  me.      "  What  a  ■"■  we  to  do?" 

••  It  is  unsatisfactory,  but  '  suppose  we  roust 
accept  his  apology*"  t  answered,  in  a  leisurely 
and  nonchalant  manner.  My  heart  expanded  ut 
about  this  period. 

"  Has  anybody  got  writing  materials  about 
him  by  chance  .-"  asked  my  se  :ond,  in  a  n 

ator}   tone. 

the  apothecary  had.  and  he  whipped  thern 
out  in  a  moment — n  not<  >bo<  k  of  unusual  size, 
and  an  indelible-ink  pencil. 

An    npolo'  I     nbjert 

<f    nn<    di<- 1 ii t»d   by  my  friend  D«  ■  int|  . 


52 


MKS.   LIKRIl'ERS  LODGINGS. 


and  written  down  by  the  crushed  and  conquered 
Huffell.  When  he  had  affixed  his  signature  to 
the  document,  it  exactly  filled  one  leaf  of  the 
apothecary's  memorandum-book.  The  leaf  was 
torn  out  and  handed  to  my  representative.  At 
tliat  moment  the  sound  of  the  village-clock  strik- 
ing nine  reached  us  from  the  distant  church. 

Mr.  Huffell  started  as  if  the  day  were  more 
advanced  than  he  anticipated. 

"  I  believe  that  the  document  is  Tegular  ?"  he 
asked.  "  If  so,  there  is  nothing  to  detain  us  in 
n  spot  henceforth  replete  with  painful  associa- 
tions.     Gentlemen  both,  good  morning." 

••  Good  morning,  sir,;'  said  Dewsnap,  sharply; 
"  and  allow  me  to  add,  that  you  have  reason  to 
consider  yourself  an  uncommonly  lucky  young 
man.'' 

"  I  do  so  consider  myself,  I  assure  you,"  re- 
torted the  servilo  wretch. 

With  that,  he  took  his  leave  and  disappeared 
over  the  stile,  closely  followed  by  his  companion. 
Again  I  thought  I  heard  this  precious  pair  ex- 
plode into  fits  of  laughter  as  soon  as  they  were 
on  the  other  side  of  the  hedge. 

Dewsnap  looked  at  me,  and  I  looked  at  De\v- 
snap,  but  we  could  make  nothing  of  it.  It  was 
the  most  inexplicable  thing  that  the  man  should 
have  gone  so  far,  should  have  had  his  finger  on 
the  trigger  of  his  pistol,  should  have  waited  till 
the  very  signal  to  fire  was  on  the  lips  of  his  sec- 
ond, and  should  then  have  broken  down  in  that 
lamentable  manner.  It  really  was,  as  my  friend 
and  I  agreed,  the  most  disgraceful  piece  of  cow. 
ardice  of  which  we  had  ever  had  experience. 
Another  point  on  which  we  were  agreed,  was 
that  our  side  had  come  out  of  this  affair  with 
an  amount  of  honour  and  glory,  such  as  is  rarely 
achieved  by  the  sons  of  men  in  this  practical 
and  un-romantic  age. 

And  now  behold  the  victor  and  his  friends,  as- 
sembled round  the  small  dining-table  at  the 
George  and  Dragon,  and  celebrating  their  tri- 
umph by  a  breakfast  !  in  preparing  wMcjl  all  the 
resources  of  the  establishment  were  brought  into 
play. 

It  was  a  solemn  occasion.  The  moment,  I  a<- 
acknowledgc,  was  to  me  a  glorious  one.  Ah 
friends,  naturally  proud  of  their  associate,  ami 
anxious  to  commemorate  in  some  fitting  manner 
the  event  of  the  morning,  had  invited  me  to  this 
meal  to  be  provided  at  their  own  expense.  These 
dear  fellows  were  no  longer  my  guests.  I  was 
theirs.  Dewsnap  was  in  the  chair — it  was  of  the 
Windsor  pattern — I  was  placed  on  his  right: 
while  at  the  other  end  of  the  table,  which  was 
not  very  far  off,  another  Windsor  chair  suppor- 
ted the  person  of  Mr.  Cripps,  the  vice.  The 
viands  set  before   us   were  of  the  most  recherche 


description,  and  when  the  a>  had  been  done  full 
justice  to,  and  the  chair  had  called  for  a  bottle 
of  champagne,  our  hilarity  began  almost  to  verge 
on  the  boisterous.  My  own  mirth,  indeed,  was 
chastened  by  one  pervading  thought,  of  which  I 
never  for  a  moment  lost  sight.  Had  I  not  a  se- 
cret  joy  which  champagne  could  neither  in- 
crease nor  diminish?  Had  not  my  rival  formally 
abdicated,  and  was  I  not  that  very  day  to  appear 
in  the  presence  of  Mary  Nuttlebury  as  one  who 
had  risked  his  life  for  her  sake  1  Yes.  I  waited 
impatiently  for  the  hour  when  these  good  fellows 
should  take  their  departure,  determining  bhat, 
the  moment  they  were  gone,  I  would  take  pos- 
session of  the  field  ingloriously  vacated  by  my 
rival,  and  would  enjoy  the  fruits  of  my  victory 
I  was  aioused  from  these  reflections  by  the  voice 
of  my  friend  Dewsnap.  It  was.  however,  no 
longer  the  familiar  acquaintance  who  spoke,  but 
the  official  chairman. 

Mr.  Dewsnap  began  by  remarking  that  wo 
were  met  together  on  an  occasion  and  under  cir- 
cumstances, of  a  very  peculiai — he  might  almost 
say  of  an  anomalous — nature.  To  begin  with, 
here  was  a  social  meeting — nay,  a  convivial 
meeting,  taking  place  at  ten  o'clock  in  the  fore- 
noon. That  was  the  first  anomally.  And  for 
what,  was  that  meeting  convened ?  To  commem- 
orate an  act  belonging  to  a  class  of  achievement, 
usually  associated  with  a  bygone  age,  rather 
than  with  that' in  which  an  inexorable  De.-tiny 
had  cast  thfc  lots  of  the  present  generation. 
Here  was  the  second  anomaly.  Yes,  there  were 
anomalies,  but  anomalies  of  what  a  delightful 
kind  !  Would  there  were  more  such  !  It  was — 
Mr.  Dewsnap  went  on  to  say — the  fashion  of  the 
day  to  decry  the  practice  of  duelling,  but  he,  for 
his  part,  had  always  felt  that  circumstances  might 
occur  in  the  course  of  any  man's  career 
would  render  an  appeal  to  arms  desirable — 
nay,  to  one  wtio  was  sensitive  on  the  point  of 
honour,  inevitable — and  he  therefore  thought  it 
highly  important  that  the  practice  of  duelling 
should  not  wholly  fall  into  desuetude,  but  should 
be  occasionally  revived,  as  it  had  been  on — on — 
in  short,  the  present  occasion. 

At  this  moment,  curiously  enough,  a  faint  cheer 
was  heard  in  the  distance.  It  came,  doubtless; 
from  the  throats  of  so, no  of  the  village-boys,  and 
presently  subsided.  It  was  enough,  however,  to 
deprive  our  worthy  chair  of  the  thread  of  his 
eloquence,  so  that  he  was  compelled  to  start 
again  on  a  new  tack. 

"Gentlemen,"  said  Mr.  Dewsnap,  "  I  must 
throw  myself  on  your  indulgence  if  my  words 
fail  to  flow  as  freely  as  I  could  wish.  I  am,  to 
begin  with,  gentlemen,  powerfully  moved,  and 
that,  alone  is  enough  to  deprive  me  of  any  small 
amount  of  eloquence   of  which   I   may  at  other 


MRS.   LIRKIPER'S  LODGINGS. 


S3 


times  bo  possessor).  Likewise,  I  must  frankly 
own  that  I  nm  unaccustomed  to  public  speaking 
at  ten  o'clock  in  the  morning,  and  that  the  day- 
light puts  me  our.  And  yet,"  continued  the 
chair,  "  t  do  not  know  why  thi*  should  be  so. 
Do  not  wedding-breakfasts  take  place  by  day- 
light 1  And  are  not  speeches  mad.'  on  those  oc- 
casions .'  And,  alter  all,  why  should  we  not  look 
upon  this  very  meal  as,  to  a  certain  extent,  a 
wedding-breakfast  ?  You  seem  surprised,  gen 
demon,  at  this  inquiry,  but  I  will  ask  yon  whether 
the  event  we  are  met  together  to  celebratt — the 
event  of  this  morning — has  not  heon  the  first  act 
of  a  drama  which  we  all  hope  will  terminate  in 
a  wedding — the  wedding  of  our  nohle  and  cour- 
-    friend  ?" 

It  was  a  curious  thing  that,  just  when  our 
chairman  had  got  as  far  as  this  in  his  speech,  the  I 
cheering  we  had  heard  before  was  repeated; 
though  now  much  more  loudly.  It  was  also  a 
curious  thing  that  the  hells  of  the  village  church, 
which  was  not  very  far  off,  began  to  ring  a  merry 
peal.  There  might  not  be  much  to  concern  us, 
in  this,  but  still  it  was  curious.  The  attention  of 
Mr.  Dewsnap's  audience  began  to  wander,  and 
tin  ir  glances  were,  from  time  to  time,  directed 
towards  the  window.  Mr.  Dewsnap'a  own  atten- 
tian  began  also  to  wander,  and  the  thread  of  his 
discourse  seemed  once  more  to  elude  his  grasp. 

"  Gentlemen,'"    he  began  again,   resolved,   like 
orator  as   he  was,  to  avail  himself  of  acci- 
dent,  "  I    was    remarking    that    this   festive  meal 
I    and    by  a  figure  of  speech,  a 
kind  of  wedding-breakfast,  and   while  the  wonts 
■  t    upon   my   lips,  behold    the  bells  of  the 
church    break    oat    into  a  joyous    p«'al  ! 
Gentlemen,  there  is  sonv  thing  almost  supernatu- 

out  this.      It  is  a  happy  augun. 
I 

The  hi  lis  were    hrcoming    quite   frantic   now, 
and  tl  *  as  louder. 

"  And  as  such  I  accept  it  !"  i 

ovation    offered    to   our  noble  and 

|i  nd.       Thi  i  aid    of 

is    conduit,   and 

ing  the  inn  I 

It  « 
;  I  be  inn,  for  thi  sound  of 

and    tl,,  lii  ar  it  n" 

n*elf  in- 
cluded. 

triage   and  at   tin 


window.  Major,  I  sicken  while  I  speak.  There 
was  a  postilion  on  the  near  horse,  and  on  that 
postilion's   jacket    was   a — Oho! — Excuse    mo,    I 

beg— a  wedding  favour,  It  was  an  open  car- 
riage, and  in  it  were  seated  two  persons;  one, 
was  the  gentleman,  who  had  made  me  that  hum- 
hie  apology  not  much  more  than  an  hour  ago;' 
r,  was  Mary  Nuttlebery,  now,  if  I  were 
to  believe  the  evidence  of  my  senses,  Mary  Huf- 
fel.  They  both  laughed  when  they  saw  me  at 
the  window,  and  kissed  their  hands  to  me  as  they 
i  way. 

1  became  as  one  frantic.  I  pushed  my  friends, 
who  in  vain  sought  to  restrain  me,  on  one  side. 
I  rushed  out.  into  the  village  street,  fuelled 
after  the  oarriag*.  !  gesticulated  at  the  carriage. 
I  rati  after  tin  But  to  what    purpose  ? 

It  was  over.  The  thing  was  done.  I  had  to  re- 
turn to  the  inn,  the  laughing-stock  of  the  rude 
and  ignorant  populace. 

I  know  no  more.  I  don't  know  what  became 
of  me,  how  my  bill  at  the  inn  was  defrayed,  how 
I  got  away.  I  only  know  that  1  nm  finally, 
hopelessly,  and  irretrievably  under  a  cloud;  that 
all  my  old  companions,  and  my  old  habits  have 
become,  odious  to  me;  and  that  even  the  very- 
lodgings  in  which  I  formerly  resided  were  s"o  un- 
bearable, owing  to  the  furniture  being  impreg- 
nated with  painful  associations,  that  I  was  obliges! 
to  remove  and  take  up  my  quarters  elsewhere. 

This,    sir,   is  how  I  came  t -eupy  these  rooms, 

and    I    may   here   mention — if  indeed    thi 

monial    of  a    blighted   Wit  tch    is   o!'  any  value — 

that    1    have    no   cause   to    regret   my   chat 

abode,  and  that  I  regard   Mrs.    Lirrippi 

most    unexceptionable    ; 

as  far  as    I    can  see,  under  on!; 

is    A    WOMAN. 


VII. 
How    TBI    PA  HI. oiks     sDDZD    At' 

I     H  A  •  ' 

ian.      I   ' 
privile_ 
institute 

'    •  ■ 

I 


54 


LIRRII'ER'S  LODGING*. 


to  the  bundle  of  papers  wath        "  Would  you,  godfather?" 
in    a .111.  o,*e-         "/Of  all  things  plied, 

iv  has  i'  '  Well  then,"  y,  "  I'll  tell  \ 


on,    and  instantly  taok  birn 
.-.  hem  we  were  all   thr 
;  lined. 

Nor,    is    to    render  homage    to    I 
■St   of  her  good  and   h 
in    deference    to    h 

the   initials  J5.   J 

Prs  wath 
which   our 
marl? 

\ 
..!'  Mrs.  Lii 
Neither,  is   it   to    ohtro  I  'he   old 

original    buj 

7iian,  once  (l  ihatn's, 

long  0  Lion)  of  Lir  1  could 

•ionsiy  guilty  of  I 
it   would    indeed    I).;    a   work   of  su] 
now  that  the  name  is  borne  by  Je.m;., 

LlUlUI'ER. 

No.     I  take  up  my  humble 
little   record    of  on 

ir  boy's  minri. 
i  im  erecting  to  I 

Our    first    re-trail 

t   for  five  min- 
in   church-time,      lie  talk. 
sat    by  ..lien   we   \ 

walkin 

i 
a    dinner    a. 

was  tl.  ■'•   young 

id  (if  I 
..    hob!  a   li  jure)  my   n 
friend,  and  J —  J —  the  present  writer. 
Ther  d     .  we  three.     We   diner 

and  our  entertain- 
But  i  in  th 
i 

.Inner,  our  I 

I's  knee, 

brown 

the   ap- 
ples in  the  dish. 

talked    of  tl  .   which 

by  that 
thru    my   es 
smoothing  Jemmy's 

than  the  Lodgers,  having 
urn   in    it — why,    your   story    ought    to    be 


Then,   he  sat   looking  at  the  fire,  and  then  he 
i   of  confidence  with  the 
he    raid,    folding   his   arm-   across 
id's  lap  and  raising  his 
hers: 
"  Would  •  ar  a  boy's  story,  G 

higs,"  replied  my  esteemed  friend. 


you  one. 
remarkable    If"; 
I   laughed  again',  musically,  at 
the  idea   of  his  coming  out  in  that  new  line. — 
Then,   he  once   more  took  the  fire  into  the  same 
sort  of  confidi  md  began  : 

"  Once  upon  a  time,  When  pigs  drank  wine, 
And  monkeys  chewed  tobaccer,  'Twas  neither 
In    your    time    nor    mine,   But    that's  no  mack- 

"  Bless  the  child  !"  cried  my  esteemed  friend, 
"  what's  amiss  with  his  brain  !" 

"  It's  poetry,  Gran,"    returned  Jemmy, 
ing   with   laughter.     "We  always  begin   si 
ioh" 
"  (lave  me  quite  a  turn,    Major,"  said  my  es- 
teemd  ining    herself    with    a    plate. 

"  Thought  he  was  light-headed  !" 

"  In   those  remarkable   times,  Gran  and  God- 
there    was    once   a   boy; — not   me 
know." 

"No,    no,"   says    my    respected    friend,   "not 
yen.     Not  him,  Major,  you  understand?" 
"  No,  no,"    says  I. 

I  he  went  to  school  in  Rutlandshire " 

"  Why  not   Lincolnshire  ?"  says  my  resj 
friend. 

"Why  not,   you    dear  old   Gran?      Beci 

chool   in  Lincolnshire,  don't    I  ?" 
"Ah!    to   be    sure!"   says  my  respected  friend 
"  And  it's  not  Jemmy,  you  understand,  M 
"  No,  no,"  says  I. 

"Well,"'  our  boy  proc  insr  himself 

comfortably,  and  laughing  merrily  (again  in  con- 
vhh  the  lire),  before  h  ked  up 

in  Mrs.  Lirriper's  face,   "  and  so  he  was   tl 
dmisly  in  love  with  his  schoolmaster's   daughter, 
and    sic    WHS    the    most   beautiful   creature  that 
she  had  brown  eyes,  and  she 
ir  all  curling  beautifully,   and  she 
1  .-iie  was  delicious  alto- 
:  ame  was  Seraphina." 
hat's    the    m  ir   schooh 

imv?"  asks  my  respected  fri  md. 
is  fore- 
her.       "There    now!       Caught   you! 
Ha! 

When  he  and  my 


MBS.   LIKRirKR-S  LODGINGS. 


4V 


'•  Well !    Am)    so    he    loved    her. 

,  and  dreamed  about  h 
made   her    presents    of 

would    have    made    her   presents    of  pearls  and 
diamonds  il  he  could  h  '  it  oul  of  In* 

t-money,  bul  he  oouldn'l  her  fa- 

ther—*0  o   Tartar!     Keeping  the  boys 

u]>  to  the   mark,    hold  tiops  once  a 

.  lecturing  upon  all  sorl 

thing  in  the 

♦  " 

'•  1  lad    he   any  name  .'"    aski  d 
friend. 

he  hadn't,  Gran.     Ha!  ha!     Tnere  now! 
Can.  ■!  !" 

Ail  r  this,  they  had  another  mother 

.ml  then  our  boy  went  on. 
"  Wi 

ml,  and 

"  Not  Bob,"  says  my  ieud 

lI   made 

[1    besi 
■ 

iphiua's 
r  w  as  in  love  with 
1  ey  all  grev 

ted  friend. 

it  it." 

i 
I 

- 
I 

J 


jolly  i 

duty." 

"  Oh  but  hadn't  h 

"  Well  !  ii  this  boy 

fed    his   horse,    with    his   bride    in   bis  am 
can  ten 

I  a  certain  go  Ifather — not  you  iv. 

"  An 

id     the 

tiny   were 
people  il 
And  so  w 

.   ;i    knockii 
heard  at  the  street   (lour,    and  who  should   it  be 
bbo,   also  on  horseback  with 

r,   that  wen 

ier,  and  all 

.."  An 
fSpcctcd  friend,  as 

"  N  II." 


1 


